Alternative Factor: Five Hundred to One
by malarial Marie
Summary: Spock found with minimal effort his mind melded easily to hers- he only needed to consider it and they locked together as though through some sort of magnetic attraction. Her mind was a sharp presence, precise and linear, her thoughts jumping from one thing to the next in a rational progression. Probability of romance currently calculated at 35 percent
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Spock/Granger goodness, been cooking it up for a while now. Just pure crack**.

* * *

**Chapter #1**

**Where No Witch Has Gone Before**

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The world came back to her in a sharp blaze of light as she opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. The low purr of machinery filled her ears. Not at Hogwarts, then. The air smelled antiseptic and her nose tingled when she breathed through it, so she parted her dry lips and breathed through her mouth instead. Something was beeping, quiet enough to be white noise, but loud enough to be bothersome. She lifted her head from the pillow and looked around as her eyes adjusted.

"You've been given a mild sedative. The effects should be wearing off now."

Hermione heard the snap of latex gloves being removed. A man stepped into her field of vision and hovered over her, his face coming into focus very slowly. He had a small instrument in his hand, which he lowered and pressed against her temple. It beeped, made a soft whirring noise, and beeped again.

"Oxygen levels returning to normal," he muttered. "Blood pressure a bit high- first time off-planet?"

"Err…" she managed, licking her dry lips and staring at him. He must be a doctor, though she'd never seen a doctor dressed like this before. He wore a blue shirt, black trousers, and black boots. It struck her as almost military, like a uniform of sorts.

"Good," he said, "I hate chatty patients. Say 'ah' for me."

"Ah-"

He flashed a light into her mouth, took a quick peek, and nodded, scribbling on a clipboard. "Don't worry. We're on our way to a Starfleet base right now. They'll have a shuttle there, take you back home. Eventually. We're pretty far-out, you know."

Hermione caught only one word out of that. Starfleet. Starfleet. Off-planet. She felt suddenly very ill. "Where am I?"

"Aboard the _U.S.S Enterprise,_ hurtling through space at warp speed, approximately two days away from the nearest Starfleet outpost."

She sucked in oxygen desperately. "What year is it?"

"Stardate 2260." He pointed a black metal object at her chest. "Elevated heart-rate. Any chest pain? The confusion is a nice little side-effect from the sedative. Don't worry, it wears off."

Mounting panic told her otherwise. Was it even physically possible to jump more than a few hours into the future? How could it be? And by what means? But was there any other explanation? She felt as though she might crawl out of her skin, the anxiety building up was that intense. The doctor- if he was indeed a doctor- set his plastic contraption on the table beside her.

"Dr. McCoy," he said, offering his hand.

She shook it numbly. "Hermione Granger."

"That helps." He smiled at her kindly and went to a desk. She watched warily as he bent over what looked to be a keyboard and typed something out on it. "Could you spell that out for me?"

"H-e-r-m-i-o-n-e."

"Error- no record," a clipped, computerized voice said.

Dr. McCoy gave her a look that bordered on suspicion. "And where are you from, Hermione?"

"South London." Her voice trembled when she spoke

He dug around in a drawer and came up with a rather frightening needle. "I just need a blood sample. Don't look so worried," he said, taking her arm and swabbing a small patch of skin on her inner elbow, "I have done this before, you know."

Despite herself she managed a small laugh, which distracted her enough that she hardly registered the prick of the needle sliding into her flesh. "Dr. McCoy?"

"Yes?"

"How did I get here?"

He raised his eyebrows. "You shouldn't be that confused. What do you remember last?"

Hermione bit her lower lip. What _did_ she remember last? Being at Hogwarts. Being in danger. Yes, there was danger of some sort. But no, not at Hogwarts. She remembered not being at Hogwarts. She recalled the sound of shattering glass and yelling and Professor Umbridge, that toad of a woman, being carried off by centaurs because Grawp-

_ Oh…_

Harry. Sirius. The Ministry. The strangled feeling in her chest was suddenly choking her. Dark spots danced through her field of vision and she wanted to scream, the fear was so bad and her throat felt so tight. "I don't know," she choked. "I don't- I have to go home- I have to-"

"You have to calm down, dear. Take a breath. Relax."

"I can't-" It hardly sounded like speech at all. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't do anything.

Dr. McCoy promptly jabbed a needle into her neck and instantly everything seemed to melt away and she slid down into her bed with the peculiar sensation of dissolving into liquid. "There now. Here's what I'm going to do, Hermione. I'm going to find Captain Kirk. He'll come down and have a word with you, explain what's going to happen, and then we'll get some food into you. Just relax. You're going to be fine."

His words became jumbled noise in her ears and it took her too long to grasp what he was saying. It didn't matter- he was lying. She would not be fine. She could not relax, and she did not want to have a word with Captain Kirk. She needed to wake up now. This was a nasty, frightening dream and she felt trapped.

_Wake up!_

But the world was slipping away from her and she couldn't keep her eyes open. The concerned doctor faded away along with everything else.

"Recall from chapter twelve on cross-antidotes the theory of relative ingredients. The very purpose of an antidote often means you will not have one on hand when it is needed. You may not even possess the required ingredients. There are always options, for those of you who are paying attention, Longbottom! Stop staring at Miss Granger's notes."

She looked down at her notes. There was a cauldron there instead, and it was bubbling over. She adjusted the temperature. Professor Snape kept lecturing, unaware that one of his students had started brewing already and might be on the verge of blowing up her cauldron. She panicked and turned the heat off completely. Her potion bubbled over anyway and spilled green slime all across her desk.

"Miss Granger, stop being so incompetent!" Professor Snape said.

She looked up, at a loss for words. "But sir-"

"Clean that up," he snapped, and continued to write on the blackboard.

Hermione pulled out her wand. "Evanesco."

Nothing happened. And now her teacher was very upset- he glided over to her desk and glared down at her, all black eyes and scowling lips. "Miss Granger, can you not do anything right?"

"I'm trying," she whispered, slumping down in her chair, embarrassed, aware of everyone in the class staring at her.

"Go to the hospital wing immediately," he snarled. "You are too incompetent to be in my class."

"Hermione," Harry said behind her, "what are you doing? We were supposed to be there hours ago."

_Wait_, she thought desperately, trying to backtrack, to figure out what she'd done wrong. She turned in her chair and found her best friends were both crying.

"But I was there," she whispered, glancing up at Professor Snape. He'd turned into a masked death eater and had a wand pointed right at her forehead. "Please, sir-"

"Just checking your vitals- easy now."

She jerked awake and found herself staring not at the tip of a death eater's wand but at a small black instrument. She looked up, confused, expecting her surly Potions teacher, but it was Doctor McCoy. His blue eyes were very kind, and right now they were crinkled with concern. She tried to orient herself but it was difficult- hadn't she been in class? But no, that made little sense, because she'd been at the Ministry with Harry. This couldn't be real, though. This doctor, the room she was in- everything was clean and white. There was metal everywhere, and plastic.

"Where am I?"

He gave her a look. "You are aboard the starship _U.S.S Enterprise_. In sickbay, to be more exact." He turned away from her. "Jim, I'm not sure now is a good time."

"We may as well get it over with, Bones."

"She's confused, she's disoriented. This is the second time she's asked me where she is." He moved away.

_This is real_, Hermione thought, staring up at this other man, who was younger than the doctor and extremely handsome. _This is real. This can't be real. But it is._

"Hermione?" He took a chair next to her bed and sat down. "Do you know where you are?"

Where was she? What had the doctor said? "No," she whispered. "No, I don't."

"You're on a starship. We don't know how you got here. Do you?"

Starship. She could not wrap her head around that word. What did it mean? Starship. Starfleet. Off-planet. Her head was spinning and she felt nauseated. "No," she said.

"Do you know what year it is?"

"No." Her bottom lip quivered and she curled her legs up, wrapping her arms around her knees, cradling herself. "What's a starship?"

He raised his eyebrows, glanced at Dr. McCoy, and coughed. "You don't know what a starship is?"

"No."

"It's an interstellar spacecraft," he said slowly, enunciating each word. He had very striking blue eyes and the sort of chiselled face that might have made her knees weak if this conversation was happening somewhere else.

"Oh," she said. Finally her brain seemed to be absorbing everything, slowly working it over and taking it in, and with that the questions began to form. How had she gotten here? How could she get home? How was it possible to jump so far into the future that they had bloody _spaceships_? And how had she gotten aboard this one? How on earth had she jumped through time _and_ space simultaneously? The amount of energy that would take was unfathomable.

"My name is James Kirk," the man added when she didn't say anything else, "and I'm Captain of the _U.S.S Enterprise_."

"That's… this starship?"

He bobbed his head and smiled. It was more of a grin, almost sly, and very charming.

"I see," Hermione said slowly, uncurling her legs and sitting up. She looked down at herself. Her school robes were gone and she had a simple white hospital gown on. Her wand- she felt absolutely defenceless without her wand. "Where are my clothes?"

"Don't worry, your belongings are- Bones, where did you put her stuff?"

"Threw it out," the doctor said. He must have read the distress in her face, because he shook his head quickly. "Relax. Your clothing is in housekeeping being cleaned."

The tight feeling in her chest was back. They would think it was nothing but a stick. They might throw it out. They might-

The solid white door slid open with a soft hiss and another man stepped into the room. "Captain, a word."

James Kirk gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "I'll be right back, Hermione. Sit tight."

She hardly heard him, too distracted by this blue-shirted man. He had a very strange haircut and very prominently pointed ears. He looked entirely human except for his ears. And the strange sweep of his eyebrows. They curved up in an odd way. He had the look of a man who never relaxed- his shoulders were rigid and his dark eyes were serious.

"I'm guessing by the look on your face that you've never seen a Vulcan before," Dr. McCoy said.

Hermione shook her head and looked down at her trembling hands. She could hear the Captain and his friend though they were speaking in whispers- the spacious room provided a rather nice echo effect.

"I have found her record, Captain, but there is an issue."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that the only record of a Hermione Granger dates back to 1979. She is indeed from South London. She attended an educational institution from the age of four until the age of ten. Curiously, that is all I have found thus far."

"Spock… what are you saying?"

"I am informing you that it appears this girl has travelled forward in time."

"That would explain why she didn't know what a starship is."

"It would further explain why she appears to be rather frightened of me." His eyes flickered over to her and he arched one of his upswept eyebrows.

Hermione looked away, embarrassed. Dr. McCoy took the chair that the Captain had been in moments ago and placed a hand on her shoulder. "What's your date of birth, dear?"

She swallowed a lump in her throat. They already knew, so there was no point in hiding it. "September 19th, 1979," she said.

"And you don't know how you got here?"

"No." She glanced up at the Captain and his friend once more before looking at the doctor shyly. "And I don't know what a Vulcan is, I'm afraid."

"Consider yourself lucky," he muttered.

"Hermione-" Captain Kirk began, but Dr. McCoy cut him off.

"She doesn't know any more than we do, Jim."

"You must have some idea of how you- how you got here," he said.

She looked from Captain Kirk to Dr. McCoy, wracking her brain for a suitable answer. So many things to consider. Did they know what magic was? Would they think she was mad if she told them she was a witch? Had the wizarding community managed to survive this long? A tantalizing thought suddenly occurred to her- if she wanted to, she could look into what had happened in her own time. She could look into the future- her future.

"No," she said weakly. "I'm sorry. I don't."

"This is my first officer, Mr. Spock," he said, nodding at his colleague, the tall angular man with the pointy ears.

"Hello," she said, offering her hand warily. "Hermione Granger."

Mr. Spock stepped forward and shook her hand promptly. "Your predicament is unfortunate, Miss Granger. With your permission, I will perform a mind-meld. It may provide some insight into how you came to be here."

She stared at him, confused, thrown off by the way he managed to make every word sound so neutrally clinical. "Mind-meld?" she repeated dumbly.

"It is a Vulcan technique that allows rudimentary telepathic communication," he said. "Will you give your consent?"

"Ok," she whispered, almost frightened by the concept. Like Legillimency. Would she be able to see his mind? What would that even feel like? She barely had time to contemplate it because already he was reaching his hand out and laying his palm against her temple and locking eyes with her. There was a chorus of jeering in her ear.

_ "…whore… mother…"_

_ "…look at him…"_

_ "…traitor…"_

She saw a hand pinning something to her chest, felt a brief swell of pride, then the sensation of something tickling her neck, warm breath on her skin, a whisper in her ear-

_ "Spock? What will you tell the other instructors?"_

All of this happened while she was staring into his eyes, frozen like a rabbit, displaced into his mind yet sitting right on the edge of her bed. His fingers pressed harder against her skin, as though he thought he might be able to rip things from her mind. She winced- it was not a pleasant sensation.

Memories of her life at Hogwarts flooded her brain. She saw Harry competing in the Triwizard tournament, and Sirius escaping on the back of Buckbeak the hippogriff, and the Ministry- she felt as though she was there, sheer panic rising in her chest, stumbling through the wrong door and crashing into something. The sound of glass shattering. Her heart was pounding.

Mr. Spock dropped his hand, severing the brief mental connection. But he kept his eyes glued to hers and she realized too late that she should have said no to this, because now he knew she was a witch- and who was to say she hadn't just broken the most fundamental law in the wizarding world? Do not tell muggles. Unless the circumstances warranted it- giving birth to a magical child, or marrying a witch or wizard. And she knew by the look in his dark eyes that he hadn't known about the wizarding world until this moment.

"Fascinating," he said, looking away from her at last. "Captain, I cannot be sure how Miss Granger managed to transport herself from 1996 to the current time."

Hermione breathed out sharply. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath. He wasn't going to say anything. Was he? No emotion registered on his face- nothing at all. She realized her hands were gripping the edge of her bed so tightly her fingers were numb. She relaxed her grip and slumped forward, watching Mr. Spock.

_Please,_ she thought, _please, be rational. Don't tell them. Don't tell anyone._

Captain Kirk bowed his head and rubbed at his temple. "Do you have any insight at all, Mr. Spock?"

"At this point, no. I cannot even speculate."

"Well, Hermione?" Captain Kirk approached her bed and looked down at her. "Do you have any insight?"

"No," she whispered.

"We have a course set for the nearest Starfleet base," he said. "They'll take you back to Earth. From there… well, I'm not sure what they'll do."

"What is Starfleet?" she asked softly.

"It's a military and peacekeeping service for the United Federation of Planets," he said.

"United Federation of Planets?" Hermione glanced between Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock

"The Federation. An interstellar federal polity. Each planet maintains autonomous government-"

"Spock, I really don't think she needs to hear about politics right now," Captain Kirk cut his first officer off with a wry smile.

"I...err… have a question… Captain," she stuttered.

"Yes?"

"It seems to me that technology has advanced… quite a bit." She almost smiled as she spoke, it was such an understatement. "Well, I suppose what I want to know is- do you have the technology for time travel?"

"No," he said, patting her shoulder. "No, Hermione. We don't have a way to send you back home."

"Captain to bridge, please," a female voice came from a small speaker high up on the wall.

"Rest for now, Hermione. Ask Dr. McCoy if you need anything at all. He's the best doctor in Starfleet. Later, if you're feeling up to it, maybe you would like a tour?" Captain Kirk smiled at her sympathetically and gestured for Mr. Spock to follow him.

"Captain, if I am not required on the bridge, I wish to ask Miss Granger further questions."

"Now look here, Spock, my patient needs rest, not an interrogation," Dr. McCoy said sharply.

"With her permission, of course. I do not intend to interrogate her, Doctor. I'm simply curious."

Dr. McCoy looked down at her. "Well, if it's all right with you. But I don't like it."

Hermione shrugged helplessly. Telepathy and pointy ears aside, she didn't know what to make of Mr. Spock and was truthfully rather curious. Clearly he was an alien of some sort, though he looked remarkably human. So there was life on other planets. That idea alone sent her head spinning. "I don't mind," she said.

"Keep me updated," said Captain Kirk, and walked out of sickbay through the sliding white door.

"I'll be in my office if you need me," Dr. McCoy told her kindly before casting a rather suspicious glance at Mr. Spock and meandering off into another room.

Mr. Spock sat down in the chair next to her bed and folded his hands in his lap, tilting his head slightly and observing her. His dark eyes were unfathomable. "You have some idea of how you came to be here, Miss Granger."

Her tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth. She swallowed and shook her head. "No, I really don't."

"Lying is unnecessary."

"I'm not lying," she said quickly.

His strangely shaped eyebrows went up. "I assume your concern is that I will inform others about your society and its culture. I assure you, Miss Granger, that I will do no such thing. You are, of course, unfamiliar with the Prime Directive. I will give you a brief explanation- we do not interfere with the natural development of other societies or civilizations, even for their perceived benefit. Starfleet operates under strict non-interference. Above all else, it is our guiding ethical concern."

It felt as though a balloon had suddenly deflated inside her chest. She let out a short breath of air and her shoulders slumped in relief. "Thank you," she said.

He nodded curtly. "I cannot tell you whether your society has survived to this point in time- however, it would be most fascinating if it has. I only caught a glimpse of your life but it was enough for me to hypothesize that your so-called magic is quite impressive."

"So-called?" she repeated, raising her own eyebrows.

"A logical explanation must surely exist. I find the prospect of investigating it very appealing."

Hermione frowned at him. "But the wizarding world isn't logical, Mr. Spock. Trust me, I've tried to find some sort of rationale in all of it. You see, I wasn't born in the magical world. I'm muggle- I mean, I didn't know I was a witch until I was eleven years old."

"There is a scientific explanation for everything, Miss Granger."

She stared at him, trying to read his expression, to perhaps guess at his intentions. But there was nothing in his eyes that even hinted at what he might be feeling. He didn't seem cold, exactly. It was not a lack of emotions- rather, it seemed he simply kept whatever he was feeling firmly in check. "Believe me," she said, "I wish that were true."

"It is true. Perhaps your ability to use magic is genetic, a recessive trait, if your parents are incapable of it. Or perhaps there are environmental factors that trigger certain gene expressions. It may even be bacterial in nature. Do not look so disbelieving, Miss Granger. The universe is diverse and fascinating."

"Is there a scientific explanation for why you can look inside my head?"

"Of course. Many Vulcans possess telepathic skills to a varying degree. It is a genetic trait- one I am lucky to have inherited from my father."

"But that doesn't really explain how it works," she said.

"Telepathy operates via a bioelectric energy field, using psionic energy to link an individual's brainwaves with the brainwaves of another. It is a well-established scientific theory in the field of biophysics."

"Biophysics," she repeated dumbly.

"The study of biological-"

She put her hand up to stop him, and was relieved when he went silent. It was too much. All of this was too much for her and she wanted to crawl under her hospital bed and curl up into a little ball. She'd left the muggle world behind her when she turned twelve, and had never really looked back. Magic was a way of life for her. She had scant knowledge of science. And now she had the horrible sensation of being inferior, somehow. Primitive. A simpleton who accepted magic at face value.

She was suddenly quite sure that the wizarding world had not survived this long. How could it?

"I apologize for frightening you," Mr. Spock said, and for the first time there was a hint of feeling in his voice. A slight note of sympathy.

Hermione shook her head. "I'm not frightened," she whispered, "just overwhelmed."

"That is understandable."

"I suppose everyone is like this now," she said softly, glancing around at the gleaming new technology, the screens built into the walls and the stark white metal everywhere. "Logical. Scientific."

"Incorrect," Mr. Spock said. "Earth society has advanced, of course, but humans are still often subjected to their emotions and guided by them."

She watched him stand and begin to pace back and forth in front of her bed.

"Vulcans are dedicated to logic and reason. We control our emotions so that we act rationally, without interference. Facts, not feelings, are what guides us." He stopped and looked down at her, one eyebrow raised. "It would be most illogical to base your opinion of humanity on me, Miss Granger. May I resume my questioning?"

"Err… yes," she mumbled, feeling like a scolded child. She wasn't used to not knowing things. It made her uncomfortable, to feel so uneducated. She wanted to ask him about Vulcans, where they came from and why they looked so human if they were from another planet-

"To your knowledge, could magic provide the means for time travel?"

"Yes, but not like this! That is, I've never heard of anyone jumping more than a few hours through time," she said, "and besides that, it's not just time. It's space as well."

"And is there any sort of magic that would allow a person to travel through space?"

"Well… there's apparition. But I haven't learned how to apparate yet. And besides, I don't think apparating that far is physically possible. You would be splinched for sure. And portkeys have to be set for a certain time and location."

"What is the theory behind apparition?"

She blushed. "I don't know."

"What do you mean by splinched?"

"It happens if you don't know how to apparate properly, or if there are anti-apparition spells in place. You might leave part of yourself behind when you apparate," she said, happy to have at least one answer for him, "or you might lose part of yourself when you're halfway there."

Mr. Spock shook his head. "It seems far too dangerous an activity without understanding the basis of how it operates. How might a person travel through time?"

"With a time turner. It's a device- I've used one before, so that I could attend classes that were scheduled at the same time," she said weakly. "They're dangerous, though. One of the basic rules in the magical world is that you can't tamper with time."

"Logical." He resumed pacing. "I recommend that once you return to Earth you seek out the magical community, as you call it. Does your society have a government?"

"The Ministry of Magic."

"Perhaps they may be of assistance."

"I rather doubt the wizarding world will have survived," she whispered.

"Why do you say that?"

Hermione bit back a smile. "Human intuition."

"Is unreliable at best, Miss Granger. May I enquire what you recall last before waking up here?"

"I…. well, it's rather complicated."

He gave her a patient look. "Continue."

"I was with my friends. We left Hogwarts- that's a magical school in Britain- and went to the Ministry of Magic. You see, my friend-" Her voice sounded strangled and she couldn't catch her breath. "My friend was under the impression that his godfather was being held and tortured there."

"Why would you not inform your instructors?"

"Because they wouldn't have believed us. Our Headmistress was rather corrupt, you see." To put it mildly. "I remember being at the Ministry. And I remember being in the Department of Mysteries. I don't really remember much else, though- I think I got lost somehow."

Mr. Spock studied her for a long, uncomfortable moment. "I would ask you what is in the Department of Mysteries, however I believe the name speaks for itself."

"It rather does, I'm afraid."

He held his hands behind his back, still watching her, considering. "I hypothesize that something within the Department of Mysteries is responsible for transporting you here."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, but I'm afraid I don't know what it was."

"I must return to my duties now, Miss Granger, but I would like to continue this conversation. If Dr. McCoy sees fit to release you from sickbay, perhaps I will give you a tour of the Enterprise?"

"I would like that," she said softly.

He gave her a final curt nod. "Then I shall speak with you later." He disappeared behind the sliding white door.

Hermione sat perched on her hospital bed, staring at the door, her mind a tangled mess, her emotions all over the place.

_Harry_, she thought wildly, _I hope you're doing better than I am_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter #2**

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Dr. McCoy did finally release her from sickbay, with the suggestion that she ought to get some rest and have some food. She was in her new living quarters now, trying to settle in and clear her head, but it seemed impossible. All she could do was pace back and forth and think about home. She had to get back home. Her friends needed her. Harry needed her.

What would they do when they realized she'd gone missing? Would the Ministry know what happened to her? Would they be able to bring her back, somehow? Had her friends managed to find Sirius and save him? And would they blame themselves for her going missing? What would they think, that she'd simply vanished into thin air? That she was dead?

She would drive herself crazy if she kept this up. There was nothing she could do at the moment. The reality of her situation wouldn't change the more she thought about it- but it was tearing her up inside and she simply couldn't help herself. Her mind felt like a broken record.

_Focus on the facts_, she told herself.

Fact. She was sixteen years old. She was a student at Hogwarts. She was in Gryffindor house. She had two best friends, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. Her parents were dentists. She was not dead nor was she dreaming. She'd had a time travel mishap and was now in the care of Starfleet- more specifically, at this moment, she was in the care of Captain James Kirk. Dr. McCoy was the chief medical officer and a good doctor. She trusted him. Officer Spock was a Vulcan and he knew she was a witch. She trusted him as well.

Disturbingly, she could still feel his presence in her mind. It felt strangely intimate. A sort of echo from when he'd performed a mind-meld with her.

She needed her wand back. That would make her feel better. But she was too frightened to venture out of her quarters. Everywhere she looked there were buttons and levers and flashing lights. She knew absolutely nothing about anything in this world, and that made her feel horribly helpless. All of this technology and she didn't understand any of it. She didn't even know how it was possible to travel outside of the solar system. The very ship she was on was a mystery to her.

Her living quarters were quite small, but adequate. She could pace the entire length of the room in eight steps. Her bed was tucked away in the far right corner. The bathroom was in the left corner. A simple dresser by her bed had a mirror above it so that while she paced she would occasionally glance at her pale, drawn reflection, as if to remind herself that she was still Hermione Granger.

A buzzing sound came from the intercom near the door, drawing her out of her wheeling thoughts. She went up to the intercom and studied the buttons on the keypad.

_Which one?_

"Hermione, this is Captain Kirk. May I come in?"

_If I can figure out how to open the bloody door,_ she thought. "Yes, of course… just a moment," she called through the door.

"Hermione?" His voice crackled over the intercom.

"Just a moment," she muttered, taking a wild guess and jabbing at a circular black button. The white metal door slid open with that familiar soft hissing noise, and Captain Kirk gave her a charming smile, his blue eyes sparkling. She could get used to that smile. "Hello, Captain," she said.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, thank you. I just… ermm… don't know how to work this thing." She pointed at the keypad and tried not to blush.

"Oh, well it's simple really." His easy American accent made the words roll off his tongue quite smoothly. "This opens and closes your door," he pressed the black button and her door slid shut, "and this turns the speaker on." He pressed a red button. "You have to hold it down to talk. And… let's see… if you need to reach someone you dial their code. There should be a directory in here somewhere." He glanced around her room then looked down at her. "I thought you might be hungry. Would you like to have dinner at the officers' table tonight?"

"Err… okay," she said weakly.

He gave her a quick grin and pressed the button to open her door. "Then I'll escort you there, Hermione. Do you need a minute?"

She looked down at herself. She'd swapped her hospital gown for simple black trousers and a black shirt that Dr. McCoy had given her. "No," she said, "I'm ready. Thank you, Captain Kirk."

He offered her his arm and she placed her hand on it, unable to ignore the well-defined bicep under her fingers. She really ought to eat something, and staying cooped up in her quarters probably was not healthy. And there was something to be said for being escorted to dinner by a very handsome young captain. At least now she had a distraction.

"How do you like my ship?"

"It's very… impressive." She wanted to ask him if it was safe, but even hearing the question in her head made it sound silly, uninformed. Of course it was safe. Though the way Dr. McCoy talked, the thing was a death trap. Travelling through space on a starship was incredibly perilous.

He led her down the wide white corridor and they turned down another hallway. She caught the smell of food in the air and realized she was in fact starving. "Are you settling in all right?" he asked her as they walked into a very large room packed full of people. Everyone seemed to be wearing either blue, red, or yellow shirts and black trousers.

"Yes, I suppose so." She glanced at Captain Kirk's yellow shirt. "Do the colors mean something?"

"Gold is Command, blue is Science, and red is Operations," he said.

She saw a lot of red shirts. They sat at a round white table with Dr. McCoy and a pretty blonde woman in a blue dress. There was a machine in the center that looked a bit like a microwave. Captain Kirk reached forward, punched a series of numbers into a keypad, and the machine beeped several times. A plate full of food materialized inside it. He slid the plate over to her with a grin. "A replicator. There's one in your quarters by your table."

Hermione stared down at her roast beef and mashed potatoes. They smelled real. She poked at the potatoes with her fork and tasted them. They tasted real as well. But she didn't trust them. How was it that she could trust magic so implicitly, yet she didn't trust this muggle contraption? She never would have believed herself to be closed-minded, but there it was. "Is it safe?"

"Perfectly safe, my dear," said Dr. McCoy. "This is Dr. Carol Marcus, our resident weapons specialist. Dr. Marcus, Hermione is our mysterious time-traveller."

"Welcome, Hermione." She had a cool British accent. To Hermione's ears, it sounded like home. She had to swallow the sudden lump in her throat.

"And our communications officer, Lieutenant Uhurua. And you've already met my first officer," said Captain Kirk.

Hermione looked up at Mr. Spock and his tall, leggy companion. "Pleased to meet you," she said, thoroughly distracted at the realization that the women around her were wearing rather revealing uniforms.

"If you need anything at all, don't hesitate to ask," said Lieutenant Uhura.

"Thank you." She forced herself to eat the food in front of her, aware of both Dr. McCoy and Mr. Spock watching her. She really was hungry, but it took effort to clear her plate. She felt as though she was merely going through the motions.

"You're looking a bit pale, my dear- are you sure you're all right?" Dr. McCoy asked her.

"Doctor, given her circumstances I believe Miss Granger has the right to be slightly withdrawn."

"Now look here, Spock, I'm just concerned for the poor girl! She's been through a massive upheaval and I think she should be under medical surveillance."

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up with embarrassment. She'd clearly been the topic of much conversation between Dr. McCoy and his fellow crewmates. Apparently they'd clashed on the matter, too.

"You performed a full physical examination and gave her clearance, Doctor."

"Being physically healthy does not mean she is all right, Mr. Spock. As I'm sure you know."

"I'm all right, Dr. McCoy. Really. I'm just in a state of shock, I suppose," she said softly.

"Have you finished your meal, Miss Granger?" Mr. Spock asked her.

She didn't think she could manage to eat any more, even if she tried, even though she knew she was still hungry. She wondered if she'd been unconscious for very long before waking up in her hospital bed. "Yes." She pushed it away from her.

"Then shall we start your tour of the_ Enterprise_?"

Hermione almost wondered if he was trying to rescue her from the situation, if he could tell somehow that she was very uncomfortable and mentally unprepared for fielding questions from his fellow officers. It was a nice thought. "Please," she said, standing up. "Thank you, Captain Kirk, for escorting me to dinner," she said, and was rewarded with a charming smile.

"My pleasure, Hermione."

She bade goodbye to the officers' table and followed her tour guide out of the dining hall. He led her down the wide white corridor and stopped in front of a door. "The turbolift," he said, pressing a button on the wall. The door slid open to a rather cramped circular lift. She stepped in after him and watched the door hiss shut. "This will take you to whichever deck you choose. Deck six is engineering. Would you like to learn how the _Enterprise_ is powered?"

Despite herself Hermione had to smile. She may be three hundred years into the future, and Mr. Spock may not be human, but he was still male and males still apparently thought the most interesting part of any machine was the engine. At least that had not changed. "I would like that," she said.

He pressed six on the keypad and her stomach jumped into her throat as they shot downwards. Turbolift, indeed. She swallowed nervously at the thought of being locked inside a metal canister that seemed to be in freefall. "I believe this is yours." Mr. Spock pulled something out of his pocket- her wand.

She took it from him and squeezed it tightly, to make sure it was real. The relief was almost instantaneous. It swept through her like a ripple of electricity. She looked down at her wand and wondered yet again what she would do if she couldn't make contact with the magical world. "Thank you," she whispered, trying not to get too emotional, and failing miserably. She leaned against the wall of the turbolift and began to cry. Tears dampened her cheeks and she sniffled quietly. "Sorry."

"You are human," he said. "I do not understand the emotions you are displaying, however I do accept them, Miss Granger. There is no need to apologize."

She couldn't quite tell if he was trying to comfort her or merely stating a fact. Both, perhaps. "Do Vulcans… not have feelings?"

He turned to her and tilted his head, considering. "Vulcans feel very deeply. That is why we choose to control our feelings." He clasped his hands behind his back and stepped forward as the door slid open. "May I ask what that is, and why it is of such importance to you?" He nodded at her wand as they stepped out into the engineering deck.

Hermione was too distracted to answer him. "This is amazing," she said faintly, wandering up to a metal device that towered over her. "Does it use nuclear power, then?"

"Most Federation starships utilize a matter-antimatter reaction within the warp core." Mr. Spock's eyebrows were quirked up slightly. "Which is over here, Miss Granger."

She followed him wordlessly, gawking around in awe. In her wildest imagination she wouldn't have guessed this was what the future looked like. "Antimatter?" she echoed weakly.

He nodded at a glass-plated door. "Behind this is the warp core. The radiation emitted from it is quite lethal." He placed his hand against the glass and grew very still for a moment, apparently lost in thought. "I wish to learn more about you, Miss Granger. You are rather fascinating."

She blinked and snapped out of it. "Sorry," she said. "I… ermm…. this is my wand." She held her wand up and gave him a smile. "It's made of vine wood and has a dragon heartstring core."

"I see. It is used for what purpose?"

"To do magic, of course." She glanced around. They were strolling amongst a series of pipes that she could only guess might be used to cool overheated machinery. "Would you like to see?"

He stopped and nodded. "If you are willing to demonstrate."

"Lumos," she said. The tip of her wand lit up. "Knox."

"Are the words necessary?"

"Mostly, yes." Hermione frowned. "We haven't learned non-verbal spells yet. I believe that's NEWT- level magic."

"The educational institute you attend, what is it called?"

"Hogwarts." A quick pang of longing hit her and she felt tears forming yet again. "Would you mind if I used a spell on you, Mr. Spock? It's a perfectly simply charm." She wiped at her cheeks and smiled. "It's quite safe." When he inclined his head she pointed her wand at him and did a quick warming charm- it was rather chilly in the cavernous engineering room, and there was a small part of her that wanted to impress him.

Mr. Spock blinked and looked down at himself. "Interesting," he said. "What subjects are taught at your school?"

"Oh, a fair few," she said. "Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Herbology…"

"What are the Dark Arts?"

"Dark magic," she said gravely. "Curses, hexes, that sort of thing."

"Is that subject taught as well?"

"Goodness, no," she said in alarm. "Dark magic is dangerous, Mr. Spock."

"I see. Hogwarts does not teach mathematics?"

"No."

"Physics?"

She shook her head.

He looked almost shocked. "Chemistry?"

"I'm afraid not. You have to understand, Mr. Spock, witches and wizards aren't interested in science. Why learn physics when it doesn't apply to you?" She pointed her wand at him. "Accio communicator." His communicator flew out of his pocket and landed firmly in her hand. "Unfortunately it does mean most of the wizarding world has a very poor grasp on logic."

"I find such a world difficult to comprehend."

Hermione handed the communicator back to him. "It is strange," she said. "Most wizards don't know how electricity works, you know."

"I cannot imagine such a society developing in any significant way."

Part of her was tempted to be insulted, but she knew he was right. The wizarding world had not changed very much since the 19th century. To be sure, developments had occurred. They no longer threw werewolves in prison simply for being werewolves. Muggle-borns had been granted the right to sit on the Wizengamot. But very rarely was anything new discovered. New spells were almost unheard-of. "It is rather stagnant, I suppose." She bit her lower lip and pocketed her wand. "I don't think the wizarding world will have survived this long."

Mr. Spock took her back to the turbolift and they rocketed up to deck one. "I suggest not making such preliminary conclusions, Miss Granger." He looked down at himself. "I am still warm."

"It wears off eventually- most charms do. I can reverse it if you like," she said quickly, but he shook his head.

"I find it pleasant. Vulcans are accustomed to a higher surface temperature."

Hermione looked up at him, studied the way his ears curved up and his eyebrows arched. She'd nearly forgotten he was from a different planet- it was still so very strange to think about, even though she knew she was on a starship and far away from Earth. She hadn't noticed anyone else on this ship who might not be human. "Are you the only Vulcan on the _Enterprise_, Mr. Spock?"

"I am the only Vulcan in Starfleet."

"That must be lonely," she said before recalling what he'd told her earlier about Vulcans and emotions. "But I'm sure Starfleet is fortunate to have you."

He turned to her and gave a very small nod. "That is very kind of you to say, Miss Granger."

She blushed and smiled at him shyly. "What is your home like? Is it much warmer than Earth?"

"Vulcan had a higher surface temperature and a thinner atmosphere than Earth," he said. "It was destroyed three years ago. I consider Earth my home now." He stated it so calmly and without a hint of feeling.

The turbolift stopped and they stepped out onto the bridge. It was a large circular room, all shining and white with screens and keypads everywhere. A viewing screen dominated the very front. Lieutenant Uhura sat at one station and tapped at a screen rapidly, one hand holding an earpiece to her ear. She looked up and smiled at Mr. Spock in a way that suggested more than professional camaraderie.

"All operations are performed here," he said to Hermione. "Communications, navigation, defense and offense. This is our helmsman, Mr. Sulu, and our navigator, Mr. Chekov."

"Hello," she said, thoroughly distracted by what her tour guide had just told her, and by the way he said it. She couldn't fathom losing her entire world, despite knowing that she may very well be in that situation. Homeless. Never able to return to all of the places she'd grown to love. Oh, she would still have London. But not the London she knew. As far as she was concerned, Earth may as well be another planet.

"The transporter room is on deck two, as is the sickbay," said Mr. Spock. "Deck three contains numerous facilities- a physical fitness centre, a mess hall, several conference rooms. Living quarters are on decks four and five."

Hermione tried to pull herself out of her spiralling thoughts. Everything would be all right. She would find a way home. She had to. There simply was no other option. She couldn't possibly-

"Miss Granger?"

She snapped out of it and realized Mr. Spock was standing right in front of her and watching her with his dark, serious eyes. "I'm sorry," she said faintly, "I was… ermm… lost in thought."

He seemed about to say something, but changed his mind and went to the station beside Uhura's. He flipped a small switch and began to tap at a screen- Hermione stood behind him and peeked around his elbow to see what he was doing. When he finished he took out his communicator and flipped it open. "Captain Kirk."

"Kirk here."

"I request permission to use the microgravity chamber. For recreational purposes."

The communicator crackled noisily, the sound of Captain Kirk sighing. "Spock, have you ever heard of a little concept called being on a need-to-know basis?"

"Are you referring to willful ignorance, Captain?"

"No, I'm talking about… recreational…never mind, Spock. Permission granted, Kirk out."

Lieutenant Uhura laughed. Mr. Spock pocketed his communicator, his expression suggesting mild confusion. Hermione felt she'd missed something, but was too distracted by the term 'microgravity chamber' to give it too much thought.

"Microgravity?"

"I will show you one more part of the ship, Miss Granger. After that it may be prudent for you to retire to your quarters. You have had an understandably difficult day," he said.

That was an understatement if ever there was one. She merely nodded and followed him off the bridge. She felt on the verge of tears once more. The dull confusion and mild panic she'd experienced earlier had finally settled down, replaced by something much worse. Hopelessness. Real fear. Not the fleeting, reactive fear of earlier but a deep and sickening fear for herself. Her future. Her life. She could not function in this world. It was too much. Starships. Interplanetary governments. Antimatter, microgravity, warp cores…

Mr. Spock took her into a small air-locked room. One wall was made entirely of glass, and on the other side was another, larger room. "This is our microgravity chamber," he said. "I believe you may find it… therapeutic. Do not be alarmed." He dialled a number into the keypad- the bloody things were everywhere- and suddenly the glass wall disappeared into the floor.

"Alarmed by what?" she asked, turning to look at him and finding herself floating several inches off the floor. Her body felt strangely weightless. "What's happening?" she asked nervously.

He lifted his feet and gently pushed himself off the floor, floating slowly towards the ceiling. "There is very little gravity in this chamber. It is used for training and physical skill tests. There are many requirements for being a member of Starfleet, Miss Granger. Having the capability of performing physical activities in low-gravity settings is absolutely necessary."

Hermione watched a lock of her hair slowly drift upwards. "This is supposed to be therapeutic?"

Mr. Spock put his hands on the ceiling and pulled himself out of the small compartment into the larger room. "It will take a few moments for your body to adjust." He held his hand out to her and she took hold of it, letting him pull her along. The force of his movement sent her floating past him until her arm was completely stretched out as she gripped his hand tightly.

"Oh dear," she said, glancing down and immediately regretting it. She may be a mere fifteen feet above the floor, but even that height made her feel uneasy. But she had to admit that it wasn't an unpleasant sensation, being completely weightless. In fact it felt rather nice. Mr. Spock's fingers laced through hers' felt rather nice as well. She exhaled slowly and closed her eyes. "Oh, I like this," she murmured, aware that her body was slowly drifting upwards.

"I have observed that many humans find it easier to cope with their emotions when they are distracted," he said.

Hermione opened her eyes and looked up. Her hair fanned out and floated around her face, tickling her nose, and she brushed it aside. "How do Vulcans cope with their emotions?"

"Rigorous mental training and a dedication to logic." He released her hand and let her float away from him slowly.

"I see," she said, though she had a feeling she didn't see at all. Choosing not to feel. It was too alien a concept for her. As though whether to feel something or not was a choice one could make over a cup of tea. "Thank you for the tour, Mr. Spock."

"You are welcome." He leaned backwards so that he was floating on his back, his arms folded behind his head.

Hermione mimicked his posture and they floated like that for what felt like not a very long time at all. But when he helped her back into the little white compartment and raised the glass partition up, he informed her that they had in fact been in there for an hour. Readjusting to gravity was much less pleasant than adjusting to microgravity. She felt heavy-limbed, weary, but oddly enough, her mind had quieted down considerably.

He escorted her back to her quarters. "If you require anything, Miss Granger, do not hesitate to ask," he said, following her into her room.

Hermione stood in the middle of her room and chewed on her lower lip. There was one thing she'd noticed that had been niggling at the back of her mind since she'd settled into her quarters. She hadn't seen a single book anywhere. If there was anything that might make her feel a little more like herself, it was cracking open a good book and absorbing the information within it. "There is something," she said hesitantly, turning to Mr. Spock and looking up at him. "I…ermm… I like to read, you see, but I haven't seen any books here." She glanced around her quarters. Not even a bookshelf.

One dark eyebrow quirked up slightly and it seemed he was almost trying not to smile. He went to a small desk in the corner by her bed and pressed a button on the wall that she hadn't noticed. "Computer, access Starfleet's central information database," he said. A screen lit up on the wall. He tapped at it and drew up what looked to be an index of some sort. "The information system is quite easy to operate," he said. "Access history database- Earth." As he spoke the screen flashed and displayed new content.

She joined him in front of the screen and scanned it. "What is this?"

"Library Computer Access and Retrieval System," he said. "It can be operated through voice-command or by use of the touchscreen." He tapped the screen and drew up a page that appeared to outline the history of Starfleet. "You may find it more efficient to use voice-command. Computer, access all scientific articles on the subject of time travel."

The screen flashed again and showed a list of titles. Hermione carefully pressed her finger against a title. An article appeared on the screen. "Amazing," she whispered, feeling a bit faint at the prospect of having so much information available to her- and literally at her fingertips. "Thank you, Mr. Spock." She glanced up at him shyly. "Thank you for being kind."

He looked as though he wanted to say something, but didn't quite have a grasp on what that was. "You are welcome. I must return to my post now, Miss Granger. Have a pleasant evening." He turned on his heel and left.

She stared after him, watched the white metal door slide shut. A very strange man, to be sure. Were all Vulcans like that? One moment it seemed he was trying to make her feel better, and the next moment he acted as though this was all business-as-usual.

"Computer? Access… information about… Vulcans," she said slowly, feeling rather foolish talking to a screen, but when it flashed and filled with words she decided she could get used to this. It was not quite the same as curling up in bed with a book, but the ease of retrieving whatever information she wished more than made up for that.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I always appreciate feedback, so thank you to those who took the time to leave a review.**

* * *

**Chapter #3**

* * *

The next day- if that was the proper term to use- Hermione wandered around deck four rather aimlessly before taking the turbolift to deck two. She avoided speaking to any of the dozens of crewmembers as they bustled past her, thinking it was probably best if she kept a fairly low profile during her time aboard the _Enterprise_. Occasionally messages were given over the intercom system- she would pause to listen in case something pertained to her- but for the most part it seemed operating a starship was a rather quiet and orderly affair.

She'd spent a good four hours last night reading. She found it easy to get lost sitting at her desk staring at a computer screen, absorbing information. It was so readily available. She'd read up on the history of Starfleet. She'd spent a good hour absorbed in Vulcan philosophy. And finally, when she could no longer avoid it, she perused the history of Earth. She knew she really shouldn't have done it, but having it at her fingertips was too irresistible.

_The fruit of knowledge,_ she'd thought grimly.

Some of the history was blatantly wrong. The so-called 'Eugenics Wars' did not happen in the 1990's. She knew that much. But that didn't mean that it hadn't happened at all- the notion that it eventually would sent her stomach churning. Her world was in for a few nasty shocks. Unsurprisingly, she found no information about the wizarding world within the computer.

Eventually she found herself inside the familiar pristine and antiseptic sickbay. She really had no intentions of disturbing any of the crew, knowing what she knew now about Starfleet and the Federation- she was aware that for all intents and purposes she was aboard a military ship and she didn't want to get in the way of anyone trying to do their job. In fact she felt rather bad for distracting the first officer yesterday.

"Hello, dear." Dr. McCoy had spotted her. He was examining a crewmember with that little black machine he'd used on her. It beeped as he swept it over his patient's head. "I think you'll survive, Riley. Take the day off- I'll log it as stress-induced… headache." He picked up a little plastic tablet and poked at the screen. "Come in, Hermione. Don't be shy," he said to her.

"I don't want to be a bother," she said, looking around and examining the sickbay with a new appreciation for its advanced technology.

"You're not a bother at all. Anything I can do for you?"

"No… I'm just… wandering," she said.

He looked at her over his tablet, seemingly disbelieving. "Dear God, girl, you're not bored, are you?"

"Erm…" she said, "no. I'm not bored. I just don't know what to do with myself at the moment. How far are we from that Starfleet base?"

"Oh, a good twenty hours." He gave her a rather grim smile. "I know how you feel, Hermione. Imagine being stuck out in space for four years." He sat down at a desk and shut his little tablet off. "Do you know what the _Enterprise_ is doing so far-out? We're on a five-year exploratory mission- mapping the galaxy, you see."

"Yes, I read about it last night," she said shyly, sitting down across from him when he pointed at a chair. "It's the longest planned excursion that Starfleet has ever initiated, isn't it? It's very ambitious."

"Ambitious, dangerous, foolhardy…" he muttered. "So you did some reading last night, did you? What do you think of the future?"

"It's very bright," she said. "Very different. And complicated."

"Yes, it certainly is complicated." Dr. McCoy pushed his thick, dark hair off of his forehead and smiled sardonically. "You must feel like a fish out of water."

Hermione smiled. A rather massive understatement. "It's certainly jarring."

"I'm impressed with how well you're coping," he said. "Coffee?" When she nodded he disappeared into his office and came out with two steaming silver mugs. "Anything in it? No?" He took a long drink of his coffee and sighed.

"You seem tired, Doctor," she said.

"Oh, I am." His shoulders slumped slightly. "But I'll survive, I'm sure. Spock gave you a tour yesterday?"

"Yes, he was very kind. I… hope I wasn't distracting him from his work."

Dr. McCoy's eyebrows shot up. "Distract _Spock_ from work? Child, have you met the man?"

She tilted her head. "I just mean that… I hope I'm not too much of a burden. I understand the crew have their duties and I don't want to interfere."

"You're a peculiar young lady, Hermione." He smiled again, almost indulgently.

"Hermione Granger, report to the bridge please. Hermione Granger, report to the bridge," Captain Kirk's voice crackled over the intercom.

Her unease must have shown on her face, because Dr. McCoy chuckled and patted her arm. "Don't look so concerned. I'll come with you." He downed the rest of his coffee and she followed him to the turbolift. "You're in good hands, you know. Captain Kirk is one of Starfleet's best. Don't tell him I said that, though- I'd never hear the end of it," he muttered as they stepped onto the bridge.

Mr. Spock glanced up and gave a small nod of acknowledgement before resuming whatever it was he was doing. Hermione couldn't begin to guess. He seemed deeply involved with something on the screen in front of him. Lieutenant Uhura flashed her a friendly smile that she returned sincerely before approaching Captain Kirk, who sat slouched in his black chair, his eyes fixed on some far-off point.

"Captain?"

He snapped out of it and looked up at her. "Ah. Hermione. I have to finish my report on you so… I know the past few days have been rough, but we really need to sit down and have a chat." He rose and eyed Dr. McCoy, apparently amused. "Relax, Bones. I'm just following orders." He slapped the doctor's shoulder. "Come on, Hermione."

Damn that Vulcan. He'd betrayed her. He'd given her away. All of that nonsense about non-interference had been just that- either he'd flat-out lied to her or he'd changed his mind. And she thought she'd gotten at least a rudimentary grasp on Vulcan philosophy.

She wanted to squirm under James Kirk's piercing blue eyes. By the way he looked at her she knew Mr. Spock had told him everything. "You… need to finish your report?" she prompted nervously when it became apparent he wasn't about to speak.

Captain Kirk blinked. "Sorry," he said. "We haven't had shore leave for a while... it gets to you. But nothing beats being on solid ground after spending months on a starship." He pulled out one of those little plastic tablets- they seemed to be everywhere- and poked at it. "Starfleet wants a full report on you. Trouble is, I don't really have anything to tell them. I can't imagine how difficult this must be for you, Hermione, but I have to ask." He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table, his handsome face taking on a very serious expression. "How did you get here?"

She gave a fretful sigh. "I… don't know, Captain." Denial would only get her so far, she knew, but her choices were extremely limited. And she was hurt, too, by the idea that Mr. Spock possibly had had ulterior motives yesterday, when he was being kind to her and showing her around.

Captain Kirk sighed as well. "Can you walk me through the last thing you remember before waking up in sickbay?"

She was slightly taken aback, but answered anyway. "I was in school. It was a regular day. We were writing exams." She paused and watched him rapidly tap on his tablet.

"Keep going," he said kindly.

"I… was with my friends. We were going out for the evening… ermm… I really don't remember, Captain. I'm sorry."

He nodded and scratched at his head, mussing up his golden hair. "That's all right, Hermione. Spock did mention he thought there might be… trauma, of some sort, blocking your memory. I guess that'll have to do, won't it?" He rewarded her with a very handsome smile.

Guilt rose up in her stomach and she smiled back at him, wishing she could retract the negative thoughts she'd had about Mr. Spock. He hadn't informed the Captain. Her relief was so palpable she almost laughed. "I wish I could be more helpful," she said softly.

He shrugged easily enough. "Just between you and me, I'm not a fan of paperwork. So, Hermione Granger, from South London. Born September 17th, 1979. Appeared spontaneously in the transporter room when it was not in use. Unconscious for thirteen hours. No memory of the events leading up to the incident." He set his little tablet down and looked up at her. "Does that sound good to you?"

"Yes… wait- I was unconscious for thirteen hours?"

"You were."

The door behind her hissed open- she turned in her seat and looked up at Mr. Spock. "Captain," he said, "Lieutenant Uhura has Starfleet online. They wish to speak to you."

Captain Kirk sighed. "All right." He left her alone with Mr. Spock, stood there for a moment, looking down at her with an unfathomable expression on his face.

"You didn't tell him anything," she said.

He raised one eyebrow. "I considered informing the Captain. I concluded that it would be illogical to do so."

"Thank you, Mr. Spock." She watched him move around the table and take Captain Kirk's chair. He was tall and thin, very lithe, and the way he moved reminded her oddly of a cat. Which, for some ridiculous reason, made her think of Crookshanks. Who would take care of her cat? Would her friends even remember that she had a cat? "I'm sorry for distracting you from your duties yesterday."

"You have a curious habit of apologizing when it is not necessary." He crossed his arms and regarded her. "I find you and your situation very interesting. In fact, I find it unfortunate that I cannot pursue the matter further. Did you make use of your computer yesterday?"

"Yes," she said with a smile. "I certainly did. I do love learning, Mr. Spock."

"Do you perform well, academically?"

"I… well, my friends do call me a know-it-all. I have top marks in most of my classes." She didn't want to come off as arrogant, but it was true. She performed very well, academically speaking.

He didn't look surprised in the slightest, merely nodded and folded his hands together in his lap. "Have you considered the possibility that you may not be able to return to your own time?"

Hermione had considered it, but not very much. It was too painful to think about. "Yes," she said softly, "but I don't want to think like that."

"I understand. However- Miss Granger, you may have to think about it. You may have to stay here in this time."

Damned Vulcans and their logic. "I can't," she said. "I don't belong here, Mr. Spock. And what about my friends? My family?" What about her world being on the edge of war? With Voldemort steadily driving them closer to that edge? Stay here? She couldn't. She just couldn't.

"You may consider joining Starfleet," he said quietly. "You would perform well at the academy."

Hermione shook her head, feeling like an obstinate child. She didn't want to talk about this. Her friends. Her life. She couldn't give that up.

Captain Kirk came back and glanced at his first officer. "We've increased warp- they want us there today." He looked down at Hermione and she thought she saw a flash of pity in his bright blue eyes. "We'll arrive in about seven hours."

* * *

Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock accompanied her into the transporter room. She wrung her hands nervously as she planted her feet on the circular platform, trying to comfort herself with the thought that really, all they were doing was apparating. It was perfectly safe. Why did she trust magic but not technology?

_There's a difference between apparating across-town and beaming down from a starship! _

She trembled slightly and tried to banish images of splinching from her mind. It was safe. Clearly Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock had done this many times before and had full faith in this method of transportation. They stepped onto the platform and stood there calmly while a red-shirted crewmember operated the controls.

"Ready, Hermione?" Captain Kirk asked her with a quick grin.

She tried to put on a brave face, smiled back at him and nodded. "Yes."

"Energize," he said.

It was not a pleasant feeling. She'd never apparated before but had, of course, read about it extensively. A feeling of being squeezed from all sides, the sensation of pressure in one's head, and sudden blackness. She felt all of these things along with a sudden burst of terror as the transporter room disappeared. The world rematerialized almost immediately- she doubled over and had to clench her teeth to stop herself vomiting. Fortunately both Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock came to her aid, each taking one of her arms and gently righting her. She wavered on the spot for several seconds before re-establishing her sense of balance.

"You all right?" Captain Kirk asked her.

"Yes, I think so," she said, looking down at herself and checking to make sure she was still intact. Everything appeared to be in order.

"Captain Kirk, Officer Spock, welcome!" A Starfleet officer in a red dress stood by with a polite smile plastered on her face. Hermione was distracted by the fact that she seemed to be wearing go-go boots.

They were led into a small and rather claustrophobic room. She couldn't help gawking around curiously, though she tried to pay attention when Officer Sloane introduced himself and explained to her how she would be returned to Earth. He spoke so rapidly and there were so many words that went right over her head- alpha quadrant, parsecs- that she found herself spacing out wondering how she would get from San Francisco to London. She had no money, for one thing, and no identification.

"There will be a debriefing once you arrive, and you will have to undergo medical evaluation."

"Miss Granger has already undergone a complete medical evaluation by our chief medical officer. His report has been added to her file and can be found in the Starfleet database," said Mr. Spock.

Hermione blinked and refocused. "Debriefing?"

"Just a simple interview. We have your best interests in mind, Miss Granger, I assure you. Starfleet has never dealt with someone in your…. Ahh…. predicament before. Truth be told, we don't entirely know what to do with you. Of course, you'll be given everything you need. We certainly won't allow you to slip through the cracks, so to speak." Officer Sloane leaned back in his chair and gave her a smile that was apparently supposed to ease her mind. "You will be departing in twenty minutes. Do you have any questions?"

Did she have any questions? Was he _trying_ to be funny? "Is Starfleet trying to find a way to send me home?"

"Starfleet has formed a task-force to work on your case, but I cannot comment on its progress." He sighed and his tone became almost too sympathetic. "You must be prepared to accept the possibility that you won't be able to return home, Miss Granger. I understand this must be difficult for you, but that is the reality of your situation."

Captain Kirk placed his hand on her back in a reassuring way. She suddenly felt that she'd rather have the _Enterprise_ take her back than get on a ship with complete strangers. At least she knew some of Captain Kirk's crew. She knew his first officer and the chief medical officer. She trusted and liked them. Particularly Mr. Spock, who struck her as someone with real, honest integrity.

"You said I'd be given everything I need?" When Officer Sloane nodded, she continued, "What about money?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Money? What do you require money for?"

Hermione glanced at Mr. Spock uncertainly. He caught her eye and for a moment she thought she saw a hint of amusement in his expression, for he quirked one of his upswept eyebrows at her. "If I need to travel," she said softly, directing her attention once more to Officer Sloane, "will I be allowed to?"

"Where is it you would like to go?"

"London." She looked down at her hands, surprised to see them trembling slightly. "I'm from there, you see, so I would like to… to live there."

"I see. Unfortunately, you will have to remain in San Francisco, at least until Starfleet gives you clearance to do otherwise. As for travel, if you require transportation credit I am sure that can be arranged, in good time. Now," he said, pulling a communicator out of his pocket and flipping it open, "we should prepare for departure. Captain Kirk, thank you for your cooperation in this matter."

"You'll take good care of her?" Captain Kirk's hand still rested on her shoulder, almost protectively.

"Of course."

He turned in his chair and rested his free hand on her other shoulder, looking her right in the eye. "It's been a pleasure having you aboard, Hermione. Don't hesitate to contact me if you ever need anything."

"Thank you," she said, surprised by his sincerity. "Thank you for everything, Captain."

"Don't worry, everything will be fine," he added as Officer Sloane rose.

Unexpectedly she began to tear up, and fought hard not to cry. It was difficult. Since her arrival on the Enterprise she'd been struggling to keep her emotions from overwhelming her, partly because she didn't trust them. One moment she felt perfectly fine, even excited, and the next moment she would feel utterly lost and desolate.

She stood up along with the Captain and his first officer. Mr. Spock looked down at her and raised his hand, making a strange gesture with his fingers. "Live long and prosper, Miss Granger," he said.

It seemed such a final way to say goodbye to someone, but Hermione had read enough about Vulcans that she knew he was merely giving her a traditional farewell. She raised her own hand and tried to mimic it, but her little finger seemed determined not to stick to her ring finger. She gave a self-conscious laugh and was startled when his mouth twitched slightly. "Thank you for everything, Mr. Spock," she said.

And with that Officer Sloane whisked her away, back to the transporter room where she was beamed up to a starship called the _U.S.S Intrepid_. A redshirted officer was there to greet her. He showed her to her new quarters- she noticed rather sadly that they were considerably smaller than her quarters on the _Enterprise_- and left her in peace for the evening.

She collapsed on her bed, stretched herself out, and stared up at the grey metal ceiling. She would have to exercise patience in the coming days. Starfleet would be keeping her under observation. They would want answers that she really couldn't give. What if they had some type of advanced polygraph test? What if they forced her to tell the truth? Would they believe her? Would they think she was insane?

_Stop it_, she told herself firmly, reaching above her head to grab a pillow. She covered her face with it and breathed in the smell of freshly laundered cotton. There was nothing to do now but wait.

* * *

From the observation deck she watched as they entered Earth's orbit. Never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined a more stunning view. Earth was a serene blue and green sphere, the top and bottom gleaming white. Clouds swirled above continents here and there. The planet slowly grew dark and then light once more as they orbited around it. They were moving faster than its' rotation. The sun- or Sol, which she knew was its proper name- was absolutely dazzling. It almost hurt her eyes to look at it directly.

Whatever happened to her, wherever she ended up, she would never forget the sight of her world floating in space, so comparatively small, so peaceful. It made her feel incredibly insignificant. It made _everything_ seem insignificant. Harry, Voldemort, the magical world… everything. And yet so meaningful at the same time. Standing there on the observation deck of a starship, staring down at Earth, Hermione felt for the first time in her young life as though the simple fact that she existed was a miracle.

"Hermione Granger, please report to the transporter room on deck three," a clipped female voice said over the intercom.

She exhaled slowly, memorized the view in front of her, and went to the turbolift reluctantly, her heart fluttering like mad.

* * *

"Welcome to Starfleet Headquarters, Miss Granger. I understand you must be quite tired but unfortunately we do need to interview you. If you require anything at all, do not hesitate to ask. We will do our best to accommodate you. Please come with me."

Why did everyone have to be so bloody impersonal? They flaunted a certain sort of pragmatic kindness that gave Hermione the impression they weren't actually speaking _to_ her so much as they were speaking _at_ her. It grated on her nerves. The officer who led her up a magnificent flight of stairs into a small conference room was grating on her nerves. His voice almost matched the clipped, robotic tone of a computer. He didn't seem thrown-off by the fact that she was a time-traveller. He didn't ask her any questions about it. He simply gave her a thorough explanation of what would happen in the next twenty-four hours, then left her to her own devices in the small, circular room.

She scowled after him as he closed the door, and for a moment she wondered if he'd locked her in.

The crew of the _U.S.S Enterprise_ had been much more personable than any other member of Starfleet she'd met. At least Dr. McCoy had had a sense of humor. And Captain Kirk seemed impossible to dislike in any way. And Mr. Spock, though certainly very stoic, had shown kindness in his actions. But the Captain of the Intrepid had been very aloof- whenever she asked a question he would tell her he was not allowed to discuss the matter.

When she'd asked the officer who escorted her through Starfleet Headquarters what the qualifications for enlisting were, he said the information was available on Starfleet's official documents. Hermione was the type of person who would normally appreciate professionalism- but to the extreme that Starfleet seemed to take it, she had to admit that she found it disconcerting.

Four people came into the conference room. One of them, rather alarmingly, was wearing a white lab coat and looked very much like the type who would administer a polygraph test. The taller and formally-dressed man, clearly an important member of Starfleet, sat directly across from her and offered his hand.

"Hermione Granger, my name is Admiral Lovett. Your case has been given to me and I have set up a task force so that we may work towards a mutually agreeable outcome with you. This is Senior Medical Officer Dr. Prine, and Science Officer Mr. Hawke. Mr. Hawke is an instructor at Starfleet Academy. He teaches theoretical physics."

"Hello," she said, looking each one of them in the eye and shaking each hand offered to her. She didn't like his choice of words. A 'mutually agreeable outcome?' What did he want from her? She couldn't tell him how she managed to travel three hundred years through time. She didn't know herself.

Admiral Lovett leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin, gazing at her in such a calculating way that Hermione could not help feeling she might be in a spot of trouble. "Captain Kirk has filed an incident report with Starfleet regarding your arrival on the _U.S.S Enterprise_. While temporal anomalies are by no means unprecedented, Miss Granger, they are exceptionally rare."

"Temporal anomalies?"

"You informed Captain Kirk that you did not recall anything prior to your appearance aboard the _U.S.S Enterprise_?"

"Yes."

"Miss Granger," he said, his voice taking on an entirely different tone, "I don't believe you."

"But I really don't- I don't remember. Sir," she added, thinking a little show of respect never hurt and might endear her to him. "I just woke up there. Honestly."

_"You just woke up there,_" he repeated, drawing it out, almost mocking her but not quite.

Hermione nodded and stared back at him, unblinking, willing him to believe her, aware of her wand tucked up under her sleeve. What if they searcher her? How benign was Starfleet, really? And the Federation? She had no way of knowing. She'd spent every night reading about Earth and its modern society but really, reading about a subject and being dropped right in the thick of it were two very different things. She knew nothing. She couldn't begin to guess Admiral Lovett's intentions.

"You understand that such a temporal and spatial leap is scientifically impossible," said Mr. Hawke. "At the very least, it is scientifically unexplainable."

She shrunk down in her chair. "I'm sorry. I don't know what to tell you. I don't know how I got here. I was…" Damn, she had always been such a bad liar. "I was just sitting in my bedroom…" She ought to have prepared a story for this, now she thought about it. "It just happened. I'm sorry!" she cried when Mr. Hawke shook his head.

"Now, there's no reason to be distressed," said Admiral Lovett sharply. "Calm down, Miss Granger. We're simply exercising precautions here. Dr. Prine will perform a full physical and psychological evaluation before we proceed any further."

She remembered Mr. Spock informing Officer Sloane that her medical evaluation had been filed already. At the time she'd thought he was merely observing that it was unnecessary for her to undergo that particular ordeal again. Now, sitting across from the rather impersonal Dr. Prine, she had to wonder if Mr. Spock had been trying in some small way to help her avoid discomfort. "I've already undergone a medical evaluation," she said softly. "It's-"

"Yes, I have read Dr. McCoy's report. I prefer to perform my own evaluation."

"Do you have any questions, Miss Granger?" Admiral Lovett asked her.

Never in her life had she felt so much distrust for an authority figure. "Can I go outside? I've never been to San Francisco before," she said softly.

"I don't see why not," he said amiably enough. "Take a communicator with you."

Hermione almost felt bad for disliking him. She followed Dr. Prine through the cavernous Starfleet Headquarters, straining her neck to get a good look around. There were more than a few noticeably non-human individuals dotted amongst the sea of uniforms that hurried here and there. "Is it always so busy here?"

"No, not always." He let her into a small office and had her sit in a white metal chair that he seemed able to control with a small square thing. He adjusted the chair so she was laying stretched out on her back, then hovered over her with a familiar metal instrument. She remembered waking up to Dr. McCoy muttering to himself while examining her with it.

It was not a particularly long examination, nor was it very intrusive. Still, by the time Dr. Prine finished Hermione was feeling rather murderous. "Can I go now?" she asked, watching him type at a keyboard rapidly.

He gave her a particularly shrewd look. "Do you need a break?"

"I thought you were finished," she said, dismayed.

"I still need to give you a psychological evaluation, Miss Granger."

"Can't you do it tomorrow?"

He picked up a little tablet and tapped at the screen, apparently checking his schedule. "I suppose, perhaps… You've been given top priority, Miss Granger, so it does have to be done today. Why don't you come back in two hours- is that an acceptable break?"

She pinched the bridge of her nose and threw a scowl in his general direction when he turned his back on her. "Yes, that's fine."

"You have a communicator? Good," he said, "then don't wander too far."

Irritated, she nodded and closed his office door behind her, taking the elevator down to the main lobby. It was extremely bright, very airy, with glass-panelled walls that let the natural light in. She tried to appear calm and casual as she strolled out of Starfleet Headquarters, though her heart seemed ready to burst out of her chest.

It felt as though she'd been- what was the term they used? Off-planet? She felt she'd been off-planet for a year rather than a week. When her feet hit the pavement she relished the sound. Earth. Home. Even the air smelled wonderful, fresh and clean. A light breeze ticked her cheeks and she couldn't help thinking how glorious it felt to be on solid ground. The midday sun was quite warm on her back so she headed north, following the sidewalk and a steady stream of people, many who wore uniforms that she assumed meant they were members of Starfleet.

They didn't believe her. They wanted the truth. She needed to get to London and make contact with the wizarding world. Absently she followed a small group of young, uniformed people into a park. Towering oak trees provided a perfect patch of shade. She sat in the soft grass and stared up at the bluebird sky. Funny to think about starships from down here. And Vulcans. Though, she found it funny to think about Vulcans at all. There was something massively appealing about their philosophy.

Hermione glanced around awkwardly to see if she was being watched. But there was only the small group of young people, and at the moment they were tossing a Frisbee around. She gently pulled her wand out from inside her sleeve and examined it, considering. Rationally she knew that Starfleet had her best interests in mind. Of course they did. She could hardly blame them for not believing her. But at the same time, she didn't dare tell them she was a witch. It was such a fundamental rule. And though she wanted to believe that others would react the way Mr. Spock had, she simply couldn't. She couldn't believe that muggles would treat the wizarding world as something they shouldn't interfere with.

If the wizarding world even existed. That was a massive if. She had very serious doubts.

Her fingers flexed and she tightened her grip on her wand. She was still an underage witch, still technically not allowed to use magic outside of school. She muttered a quick spell and watched a small blue flame form on the ground, scorching the grass around it before sputtering out. Harry had been reprimanded immediately when he'd used magic outside of school- but then, he'd done so in the presence of muggles, hadn't he?

Her eyes followed a young man as he jogged along the paved path that wound through the park. She mumbled a stumbling jinx under her breath and watched him nearly fall on his face. He caught himself and stood up, wavering slightly, looking around, clearly confused and slightly embarrassed. Then he continued on his way, albeit walking this time.

Her communicator beeped. She ignored it. She had no desire to talk to Dr. Prine at the moment, or anyone else from Starfleet, for that matter. Feeling rather desolate, Hermione leaned against the tree she was sitting under and closed her eyes. The communicator beeped again. Irritated, she yanked it out of her pocket and tossed it in the grass. She just wanted to be left alone. Was that too much to ask?

It was too bloody warm here. She missed England.

Her communicator beeped yet again and she finally flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Bureau of Magical Law Enforcement," said a pleasantly cool, professional female voice. "Magical activity has been detected in your area. Please stand by for further instructions. As always, thank you for your cooperation and have a pleasant day."

"Wait!" she cried, but there was nobody on the other end. She stared at her communicator. Either she was going mad or she was about to be arrested. She scanned the park in search of any unusual activity and watched as a sleek white car pulled over on the street to her left. Two men got out and… there was no doubt in her mind. They were headed towards her.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Spock! Spock is back. Don't leave again, Spock. I missed you. Stay awhile, you pointy-eared green-blooded hobgoblin. Also... feedback is always appreciated, and while I will, of course, continue to write this story whether I receive feedback or not, I am not ashamed to admit that knowing people have taken the time to write a review drastically increases my productivity. **

**Away we go.**

* * *

**Chapter #4**

* * *

"I cannot tell you how relieved I am." The director of the Bureau of Magical Law Enforcement regarded her with cool grey eyes. "Here you are. Hermione Granger." He smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "How fortunate that you're in San Francisco."

Hermione returned his smile nervously. "You were looking for me?"

"No, not directly. But we know about you. Oh yes," he said when she stared at him in amazement, "we know you're from the past." He opened a drawer and pulled out a very thick file. It was the first bit of actual, physical paper that she'd seen. "Hermione Granger, born September 17th, 1979. Attended Hogwarts from 1991 to 1996. Temporal activity… you disappeared during an incident in the British Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries." He glanced up at her. "Does this sound familiar?"

"Yes," she said weakly. Relief swelled inside her, sweet and wonderful relief. The magical world still existed, then. She still had something. They knew about her, these American wizards. "Yes, that's me."

"We will arrange transportation to London immediately," he said. "I have to warn you, Hermione. The wizarding world has changed. We had no choice- as muggle technology advanced we had to adapt. In many ways, and not always for the better."

"But you did adapt," she said.

"Oh yes. The approach you may be familiar with- that is, isolationism- became invalid once muggles developed the technology to detect fluctuations in multiple energy fields." He smiled thinly. "Yes, they can detect when magic is used. I can't stress enough that you must not use magic, unless absolutely necessary."

"I see," she said weakly. "But how do you manage to stay hidden, then? And what about Hogwarts? If they can detect magic being used, surely they can-"

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry closed down in the year 2024," he said. "We do not teach magic anymore, Hermione."

She felt as though he'd punched her in the stomach. "What?"

"Children are taught the rudimentary skills to control their magic so that they do not expose us. For all intents and purposes, Hermione, we've integrated fully into the muggle world. The Bureau of Magical Law Enforcement is the only official magical institution left. We have no central governing body. We do not use magic in the way you do."

"But… I mean… you have a wand, right?"

"Wands are only issued under strict licensing laws. I do have a wand, though I rarely use it." He tilted his head. "I understand this must be quite shocking for you. I have already contacted the Ministry of Magic in Britain. They will bring you up to speed and answer any questions you might have."

She doubted they would have the time to answer her questions- she had what felt like a million of them swirling around in her head. No Hogwarts. No wands. Would they take her wand from her? "The Leaky Cauldron," she said, her voice quavering, "does it still exist?"

He raised his eyebrows. "The Leaky Cauldron? That old pub in London? Yes, it still exists. It's just a pub now, though."

"What about Diagon Alley?" She simply couldn't wrap her head around the concept that all of that was gone.

"Gone," he said. "Wizarding London doesn't exist anymore, Hermione. The Ministry is in a very typical muggle office building. We had no choice but to blend in."

Hermione slumped down in her seat. Somehow, this almost seemed worse than the idea that the magical world no longer existed at all. Survival at all costs. Not allowed to use magic or even have a wand. "What about muggle-borns?" she asked.

"Most muggles are willing to ignore things they cannot explain, so often enough when we find a muggle-born magical citizen there is no risk of their parents knowing the truth. We simply inform the child that using magic is illegal and will get them arrested. Most children learn very quickly to control themselves. Of course, we keep track of magical citizens, but for the most part they lead perfectly ordinary lives."

Some part of her felt as though it was dying. _This_ was the future for her world? Everything she knew was gone. Everything. No Hogwarts. No Diagon Alley. No Leaky Cauldron. "I… I don't know what to say," she whispered.

"We are lucky to have survived at all, you know."

That didn't make it any easier for her to accept what had become of the wizarding world. "But without any magical schools…. I mean, how does anyone even know how to use magic?"

He smiled wryly. "Nobody really does anymore. Quite a lot of our past culture has been erased, Hermione. We have historical records, of course. I understand magic was used quite elaborately in the past. Personally, I don't have much of a knack for it."

"You… don't have…" She felt very faint and rather nauseated. "How am I going to get back to my own time?"

He blinked and sighed. "I don't rightly know. You may have to stay here. We've never dealt with such an upset before."

"Then there's nothing you can do for me?" she whispered. "What's the point of going to London, then? Will they be able to help me?"

"They'll certainly try," he said.

She could tell he was trying to sound optimistic, for her sake. It wasn't working- she almost wondered if she ought to stay with Starfleet. At least they had science. Physics and whatnot. They might be able to help her get home. After all, they could do so many other things. Create artificial gravity, send starships into space, transport people across great distances- the muggles seemed far more capable of magic than this bland government wizard, who didn't "have a knack" for it. "Do they have time-turners?"

"Time-turners?" He looked her square in the eye. "We just don't use magic, Hermione. I know it must be difficult for you to grasp, but that's the way it is. That's how we've survived."

To say she was rattled was a gross understatement. That was it, then. They couldn't help her. Oh, they could try, but they would be too concerned with exposing themselves to the muggle world to be of any real help to her. And everyone who had cautioned her that she might have to stay in this time had been right. She was stuck. There was no going back. Worse, she couldn't even move forward. No wizarding schools, no jobs in the wizarding world, nothing. She had nothing.

Her communicator beeped. She pulled it out of her pocket and flipped it open. "Hello."

"Hermione Granger, please report to Starfleet Headquarters to complete your medical evaluation." She recognized Dr. Prine's clipped voice.

"Okay," she said softly, her eyes on the director, who was frowning now. She snapped the communicator closed and pocketed it. "I think… if it's all right with you, I'll stay with Starfleet," she said hollowly.

His bristly silver eyebrows shot up. "You're under the care of Starfleet? Well… in that case you don't have much of a choice. You best cooperate with them."

She glared at him. It was easy enough to understand why the wizarding world chose to hide, but this… this seemed cowardly, to her. Would it be so bad if the muggle world knew about them? It certainly couldn't be worse than this, could it? "Thank you for your help," she said, rising from her chair.

"I'm sorry that I couldn't be of more help," he said, and for the first time he sounded sincere. "I'll have to confiscate your wand, of course."

Hermione stared at him, stunned. "What?"

"Your wand," he said. "You haven't got a permit."

"Seeing as how I don't exist," she said shortly, "I hardly think it matters, does it? Besides, I know how to hide from muggles. And I'm underage, so I wouldn't be using magic even if I was in my own time." She turned on her heel and walked out of his office. It felt good to slam the door behind her.

One of the men who'd picked her up earlier grabbed her arm. "Miss-"

She yanked her wand out and pointed it at him. "Let me go."

"You can't-"

"I'm not giving my wand away," she hissed. "Let me go or I'll turn you into a frog. I'd like to see them reverse _that._"

He let her go and backed away. She hurried out the sliding glass doors, onto the street, pocketing her wand as she went. She refused to look back as she made her way towards Starfleet Headquarters, her heart pounding, her last bit of hope ripped to shreds.

* * *

Spock had experienced enough chaos aboard the _Enterprise_ not to be fazed by the blaring red lights and the high-octave alarms when they began to go off. He rose from his chair and went to the bridge immediately while Jim Kirk's voice echoed throughout the ship- "Red alert, battle stations!"

He passed by Nyota, aware that her eyes flickered away from her screen for a brief moment, distracted by him. He did not want to disapprove of that, but he had to. She should not allow her feelings to distract her from her work, not when the _Enterprise_ was on high alert.

"Captain?" He whirled around in his chair and looked to his friend.

"Distress call," Kirk said. "From Starfleet Headquarters. Maximum warp, Mr. Sulu."

"Captain, even at maximum warp it is unlikely that we will reach Earth in time to be of assistance."

Kirk gave him a look that Spock had come to be quite familiar with. It suggested he ought to keep his reasoning to himself. "I know, Spock. But we can't ignore it."

"Captain, I have Starfleet Command."

"On-screen, Uhura."

Admiral Lovett's face flickered onto the viewing screen. He appeared calm if slightly surprised. "Captain Kirk, we need the _Enterprise_ here immediately."

"Noted, sir. We're on our way- what's the emergency?"

"Emergency? We're being fired on by multiple Klingon vessels, Kirk! Now let me ask you something- in all of that nasty business a while back with Khan vanishing and Marcus sending you on a goose chase across the galaxy, did you happen to cross over into Klingon territory?"

Kirk grew noticeably more somber. "Aye, sir. We did."

"Did you slaughter a Klingon patrol on Qo'noS in the process?"

"No sir, that was Khan's work."

Admiral Lovett appeared as though he wanted to say quite a bit more, but chose otherwise. "Just get here, Kirk. We've got reason to believe they're sending more attack vessels our way." The screen went blank and returned to a view of space as the Admiral severed communications with the ship.

"Klingons," Kirk muttered, resting his head in the palm of his hand. "Mr. Sulu, how long do we have?"

"Approximately two days at maximum warp, Captain."

Spock was not surprised. In fact, he had been expecting retaliation for the events on Qo'noS, though an attack on Earth seemed an illogical choice. The Klingons would have had more success attacking an outpost or a colony. Of course, they were not a people known for their logic. He saw their decision to attack Earth as a simple matter of choosing to hit where they would do the most damage. Starfleet Headquarters and the academy were located in San Francisco. Earth was the capitol of the Federation itself. The Klingons were quite clearly declaring war.

* * *

Hermione was sitting in her room reading Starfleet's official recruitment requirements for basic training when it happened. The whole world seemed to quiver and shake as though something had crashed into it at full speed.

"All Starfleet personnel please report to your posts, we are under attack. This is not a drill. Repeat, unidentified vessel has launched offensive attacks on Earth. Report to your posts. Admiral Lovett, please report to conference room A."

_What the-_

The world seemed to shift underneath her again just as she staggered to her feet. She caught herself on the corner of her bed and stumbled to the window to see outside. The skyline looked thick and hazy with smoke. She went to the door and stuck her head out of her room. Starfleet personnel were racing back and forth through the hallway. They were under attack. From what, though?

She slipped back into her room and grabbed her wand. Another gut-wrenching crash shattered her window- she flung herself onto the floor with a shriek, her fingers wrapping around her wand so tightly her knuckles popped.

_Bombs_, her mind supplied for her hazily.

"Attention all personnel, please evacuate from Starfleet Headquarters as protocol dictates. Please remain calm during evacuation."

Hermione pulled herself to her feet and stumbled out of her room. She didn't know what protocol dictated. She didn't know where to go. Her ears were ringing and everything seemed to be a blur. A Starfleet officer in a red shirt passed by her and she decided her best option was to follow him. It was absolute chaos outside. Regular civilians were running around along with Starfleet personnel, many of them yelling into little black communicator devices, panicking.

A very painful sonic boom nearly shattered Hermione's eardrums and made her tilt her head up. A black and grey jet was cutting across the sky and heading this way. It did a loop around Headquarters before opening fire on them. She screamed and found herself not alone in crying out- the officer in front of her collapsed to the ground with a shriek. She dropped down beside him and turned him on his back. There were scorch-marks on his red shirt where bullets had struck him.

She had never seen someone so close to death before. His brown eyes found hers' and she thought he couldn't be much older than twenty-five. His mouth opened and he coughed, spraying blood across his chin and chest.

_What is happening,_ her mind cried as she pressed her palm against his cheek. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Oh, why hadn't she learned any significant healing spells? Why-

A hand seized her upper arm and hauled her to her feet. It was Mr. Hawke, the science officer who taught theoretical physics. She gaped at him as he dragged her away from the dying man. "Come on, Miss Granger. We have to get to the bunker. It's Klingons," he rasped.

She was too shocked to answer or even put up a fight. But when another sonic blast echoed in her skull she had the sense to throw herself down on the ground, dragging Mr. Hawke with her. The rapid drilling noise of bullets striking concrete told her it had been a wise move. She raised her head off the ground and watched in dumbstruck silence as another fighter plane joined the one that was firing on them.

"_Come on_, Miss Granger!"

She let him drag her along, all the while keeping a firm grip on her wand. Just in case. They crossed a street and joined a crowd of people that seemed to be swarming towards the same general area. "What's happening?"

"Klingon fighters. Firing missiles at us," Mr. Hawke grunted, just as the ground seemed to shake once more and somewhere behind them an explosion shattered her poor eardrums. She let him drag her down a flight of stairs into an underground bunker- somehow, being crowded into a small metal box made her feel less safe than being out in the open, but she didn't think it wise to mention that. "Stay here. Don't leave until Starfleet gives clearance," he said, leaving her lost in a crowd of other civilians.

She looked down at her hand and saw a small smudge of blood on her palm.

* * *

By nightfall they were told they could leave, but they were to proceed immediately to their private homes. Hermione had nowhere to go. Starfleet Headquarters was here home, but a good chunk of it had been flattened and it seemed abandoned. Someone had mentioned they'd moved operations to Starfleet Academy, which was not very far away. Still, she didn't want to make the trek over there by herself.

She purposefully avoided looking over at the front of Starfleet Headquarters, where the red-shirted young man had been killed. It occurred to her as she walked along the sidewalk that ran parallel to the park she'd spent part of her afternoon in that she might have been safer in London. Maybe she ought to have accepted help from the Bureau of Magical Law Enforcement.

But that was laughable. What could they do? It might have taken her back to London, but London was not home anymore. She would have to accept that fact. London was not home. The wizarding world was gone. This world, with all of its strange and wonderful technology and aliens firing missiles at Earth- this was her home now. She would have to learn how to be a muggle. Mr. Spock had suggested she look into Starfleet Academy, maybe even enlist. The thought was not unappealing.

She pulled out her communicator, intending on contacting Admiral Lovett, and then realizing she had no idea how to work the bloody thing. There was a keypad on it, much like a telephone, but she didn't know which numbers to press. She jabbed at it impatiently and spoke into the little speaker. "Hello? Hello, can anyone here me?"

No answer. She slammed it shut and hurried towards the nearest building, trotting up the stairs into an atrium of sorts where Starfleet personnel hurried back and forth- obviously operations were being conducted here now. She tried to keep out of the way while simultaneously searching for a familiar face.

"Oh, there you are."

She turned and nearly bumped into Dr. Prine. "I was lost," she said weakly.

"Yes, I assumed so." He had one of those plastic tablets in hand- she still had no idea what they were called- and was jabbing at the screen harshly. "I'll stick you in the medical wing, I suppose. Try to stay out of the way, we have injured people to deal with. Come with me," he said.

Hermione would have been put off by his brusqueness if she wasn't so relieved to finally have a place to go. She followed him into the medical wing where he found her an empty bed to spend the night in. "Don't wander around," he told her before leaving.

She curled up into a ball under her blanket and stared at a flickering light at the other end of the room. At some point in the night a nurse mistook her for a patient, and asked her if she needed anything. She burst into tears and whimpered over and over again that she wanted to go home. She didn't object when the nurse pressed a warm, wet cloth against her forehead and told her everything would be all right. The Federation had summoned every starship they had and it would be all right. The Klingons would be gone by morning.

Hermione drifted off into sleep.

* * *

A second wave of missile strikes came the next day. She huddled in bed like a frightened rabbit. Strange thoughts filled her head. She was thinking about home too much. Harry. Harry and Lord Voldemort and Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic and quidditch. Ron and his whimsical family home. London. Her parents. Her bloody cat. Her O.W.L marks. She wanted to know how she did on them.

_Doesn't matter_, she thought.

Sometime in the afternoon she was given a tray of food. She forced herself to eat it. Not hungry. It took her all afternoon to puzzle it out. What was wrong with her. Then, as the flat screen mounted on the wall lit up and began to speak, she realized what was happening to her. She was cracking. Reality was setting in and it was too much. She laid in bed and cried all evening.

_I'm not going home. I'm not going home._

The next morning she actually took the time to listen to the announcements being made throughout the medical wing.

"More Klingon vessels have appeared on scanners. The _U.S.S Enterprise_ will arrive in approximately twenty minutes. The _U.S.S Valiant_ will arrive in approximately five minutes. Stand by for orders."

She perked up when she heard that name. The_ Enterprise_. She rather missed being on that ship. Somehow, though she'd met many other Starfleet officers since her arrival, it seemed she'd gotten attached to Captain Kirk and Dr. McCoy and Mr. Spock. Even though she'd only been there for two days. But she'd been naïve then. She'd entertained all sorts of possibilities. That she could just go to London and sit in the Leaky Cauldron and- it had been much easier for her in those first few days. She hadn't known what it meant to be stuck here in the future.

The day passed by in agonizing slowness. She had nothing to do except sit on her bed and listen for updates on the situation. Funny, she'd been under the impression that the future was peaceful. Apparently she'd been wrong. She had no idea what Klingons were or why they were attacking Earth, and she was too embarrassed to ask anyone. Not knowing things made her uncomfortable.

It was late in the night when things finally began to settle down, and Hermione was picking absently at a blueberry muffin when she heard a voice she immediately recognized.

"Now look here, Dr. Prine, I've got a whole shuttle full of people who need medical attention and I don't have the manpower for it! So you'd better make room for them. I don't care if you have to stick a few stretchers in the hallway, I've got a damned crisis on my hands!"

She looked up from her tray. It was Dr. McCoy. Despite his raised voice he looked quite calm, but perhaps that was merely his experience speaking. Or his training. He was a military doctor, after all. She wanted to say hello to him but thought better of it. He was clearly busy. She went back to her muffin, glancing up from time to time. The medical wing was becoming quite crowded as blue-shirted officers wheeled patients in and raced back out again. Hermione slipped out of her bed and tried to stay out of the way, inching along the wall towards the hallway- they needed beds, and there was really no reason for her to take up space that an injured person could use.

She slipped out the door and bumped right into someone. "Sorry!" she squeaked.

"Hermione Granger. Why are you here?" Mr. Spock tilted his head and raised an eyebrow at her, his dark eyes sweeping up and down, giving her a quick cursory glance. "You do not appear to be injured."

"They- they stuck me here," she stammered, unsure if he was concerned or simply confused. "I'm not injured. I thought I should make room for people who are."

He gave a curt nod that she thought might be a show of approval. His hand fell on her shoulder, startling her. "I am assisting in the evacuation of the Enterprise at the moment, Miss Granger."

"I'll stay out the way," she said weakly.

Mr. Spock's long fingers squeezed her shoulder almost roughly. "You misunderstand. I wish to speak to you but cannot do so at the moment."

Hermione looked up at him, surprised. She hadn't remembered him being quite so tall. "Oh. Well… I suppose I'll be around… somewhere…"

"Uninjured crew are gathering in the auditorium," he said, turning on his heel and gently pulling her along with him. She had to nearly jog to keep up. "Follow this hallway and take two flights of stairs down to level one. There will be a sign on the wall directing you there."

Slightly rattled, she nodded and went to leave, but his hand was still on her shoulder. She tilted her head to look up at him again. His dark eyes were filled with something she didn't recognize. "Mr. Spock?"

He released her, flexing his fingers and curling them into a fist. "I am… pleased, Miss Granger. To see you." His upswept eyebrows were furrowed and he looked momentarily confused, which did not suit his features at all. Abruptly he left her, hurrying back down the hallway, his communicator in hand.

Hermione stood there for a moment, considering. She hardly knew Mr. Spock, but she was quite sure that such behavior wasn't the norm for him. Perhaps it was merely the stress of the situation. But no, for a moment she thought she'd seen something in his expression that suggested… what? That he was slightly more than pleased to see her?

She shrugged it off and went down the hallway towards the auditorium.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter #5**

* * *

Hermione was not left alone for very long. It seemed many crewmembers from the _Enterprise_ remembered her, for they took the time to stop and speak to her despite the fact that they all seemed rather worked up at the moment. There was Lieutenant Riley, a young engineer who shook her hand and told her she looked absolutely terrible. And Dr. Marcus, the lovely blonde weapons specialist, who asked her if she planned on going back to London or staying in San Francisco. The crew seemed fairly calm considering they'd nearly died less than an hour ago.

"Yes, it was dreadful," said Dr. Marcus, shaking her head and swinging her bobbed blonde hair. "We nearly lost the _Enterprise_. Fortunately help arrived from Andoria and New Vulcan. The Klingons have retreated, for the time being." Her lips pursed together in a frown. "I understand New Vulcan's reluctance to send aid, considering they've only just begun to rebuild after Vulcan was destroyed, and can hardly risk losing any more of their people. The Andorians, on the other hand…" She trailed off, lost in thought.

Hermione had no idea what she was talking about, so she simply said, "At least they did come, though."

"Yes, well, as members of the Federation it's as much their duty as it is Earth's." She smiled thinly. "Politics, Hermione."

She knew something of the frustration that was politics, and decided to change the subject. "Do I really look terrible?"

Dr. Marcus bit her lip and smiled sympathetically. "I'm sure you've had a rough few days. There's a public bathroom just down the hall."

Hermione thanked her and wandered into the lavatory. She received a rather nasty shock when she looked at herself in the mirror- she realized she hadn't seen her reflection for several days. What she saw now frightened her. Her hair seemed to have become its own entity. It was frizzy, unwashed, and tangled. There were dark circles under her eyes and her face was very pale, sickly-looking. She hardly recognized herself. Horrified, she turned the faucet on and cupped her hands under the warm water, splashing her face. She raked her fingers through her hair to comb it out, untangling the little knots and smoothing her hair back behind her ears in an attempt to tame it.

_You're still Hermione Granger_, she told herself firmly, staring at her reflection. Her eyes were oddly flat and glazed-over. She shook her head and left the lavatory. The time for being a mess of emotions was over. She needed to keep it together. There had to be a logical explanation for how she'd ended up in this situation. She would start there and work towards figuring out how to get home. There had to be a way.

Back in the auditorium she found a seat next to Lieutenant Uhura, the lovely communications officer. She looked tired and weary but still managed to smile when she saw Hermione. "Oh, Hermione! What are you doing here?"

"They moved me here after Starfleet Headquarters was hit," she said. Well, it was partly true. She'd had to navigate her way here by herself after being stuck in a bunker for several hours but she didn't see any point in mentioning that.

"Spock will be pleased to see you. He's been so preoccupied with time travel ever since you showed up on the _Enterprise_. He spends all of his free time on some equation." She smiled fondly and shook her head, her long ponytail swishing back and forth.

Hermione felt oddly disappointed. Not because Mr. Spock had taken an interest in her- in fact, she was quite pleased herself with that thought- but because it explained his behaviour when she'd run into him earlier. So he was working on an equation of some sort. She wondered what it was about, but knew that she would have to wait to find out. Until everything calmed down she didn't dare distract any Starfleet officer from the situation. "Lieutenant Uhura?"

"Hm?"

"Do you… know Mr. Spock very well?"

"Well… yes," she said, smiling rather slyly. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh… I was just… wondering why he's so interested in my situation."

"Once Spock puts his mind to something he won't let up until he's accomplished what he wants," Lieutenant Uhura said.

"Is that a… a Vulcan thing?"

"Mm…" She pursed her lips together, then grinned. "No, it's a Spock thing. He's stubborn. I think it's his human side."

Hermione blinked and raised her eyebrows. "What do you mean, his human side? He's half-human?"

"He is."

"Does that happen often? I mean, do Vulcans and humans... mingle a lot?"

"No, not really. It can be difficult. Vulcans don't have much tolerance for emotions and humans… well, you know us. We can be pretty emotional." Lieutenant Uhura smiled. "But it can work."

Hermione mulled that thought over for a bit. So Mr. Spock was half-human. He certainly didn't look it, but then, Vulcans and humans were so similar in appearance anyway. At least on the exterior. "I see," she said softly, looking down at her hands.

Things did calm down eventually, after a fashion. She was impressed by how efficient Starfleet was. Everyone seemed to know exactly what they were doing, everyone knew what their job was and they were all very dedicated. Sometime that evening an announcement was made that the Klingons had indeed declared war on the Federation- they would attack once more if the war criminal James Tiberius Kirk was not handed over to them so that they could pass judgement on him.

Hermione found herself surrounded by the displaced crew of the _Enterprise_, which suited her just fine. She learned from Lieutenant Uhura why the Klingons had attacked and were after Captain Kirk- it was a curious story. To her knowledge nobody in her own time was experimenting with genetically engineered humans, but that didn't mean it wasn't happening.

The auditorium slowly emptied as the crew were given clearance to go home and get some rest. Hermione stood up periodically and did a few loops around the room to stretch her legs. She wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a private room to get a solid twelve hours of sleep. That and a nice hot meal. She was one of a handful of people left in the auditorium when a tall, lithe figure slipped into the chair beside her.

"Mr. Spock," she said, looking up at him shyly. He did not appear nearly as tired as his crewmates- if anything he seemed more lively than usual.

"I have enquired about your status with Dr. Prine," he said. "You have clearance to retire to your living quarters, Miss Granger. I will escort you there if you wish."

"I would like that," she said. Seeing as how she had no idea where her living quarters were, and Mr. Spock had said he wanted to speak to her, she was quite eager to be in the Vulcan's company once more. She followed him out of the auditorium and across Starfleet Academy's lush green campus. If there was one thing she liked about San Francisco, it was the fact that it was always quite warm compared to London, and positively tropical compared to northern Scotland.

"You are aware of the situation with the Klingon Empire?"

"Lieutenant Uhura explained it to me briefly," she said. "Will the Federation retaliate?"

Mr. Spock stopped in front of what appeared to be a bus shelter of some sort. "I do not know. It is a complex situation. We did cross over the neutral zone and enter Klingon space. The actions of one of Starfleet's top officials caused the death of a Klingon patrol squadron. The Klingons have violated the neutral zone multiple times and have attacked Federation outposts and vessels. Negotiations are the preferable course of action, but the Klingons are known for their violence."

A sleek silver bus pulled up in front of them. Mr. Spock stepped inside and Hermione followed him down the aisle to a row of thick, soft blue chairs. She sat down and looked out the window, startled by how fast they were moving- the scenery swept by in a blur. "That's a bit unfair, don't you think?"

"Unfair?"

"To say Klingons are known for their violence." She looked away from the window, as it was making her slightly nauseated. "I'm sure not all Klingons are violent. Some of them are probably very peaceful."

Mr. Spock studied her intently for a long and slightly uncomfortable moment. "You are most likely correct," he said finally. "It is not fair to make generalizations about an entire race, but the political entity that controls the Klingon Empire has a reputation for being violent." He rose to his feet. "This is our stop, Miss Granger."

"How far are we from the academy?"

"Approximately twenty kilometers. Starfleet Academy does not have enough living facilities to accommodate so many personnel at the moment. Most of the housing is taken by current students. I have arranged a small apartment for you."

Hermione didn't quite know what to say. It seemed Mr. Spock had taken more than a slight interest in her- she couldn't fathom why. "Thank you, Mr. Spock. I appreciate everything you've done for me."

He glanced down at her as they stepped off the bus and onto the quiet street. "I am merely ensuring that you have somewhere to reside for the time-being. A more permanent accommodation may help you adjust to your surroundings." He pulled a card out of his pocket, stopped in front of a towering grey building, and slid the card into the lock. The door clicked and he held it open for her. "This building is Starfleet property. Many of the tenants are personnel or students. Your apartment is number 447," he said.

Once one became accustomed to the way he spoke it was really rather charming, she decided as they took the elevator to the fourth floor. "I appreciate it all the same, Mr. Spock."

He nodded and led her down the hall to her new home. "Here is your key-card. There is a replicator in the kitchen that you may use for food and beverages. Do you have a communicator?"

"Yes," she said, "but I don't know how to use it."

He didn't appear fazed by that as he followed her into the small flat. It was not much, but Hermione was grateful merely to have a space she could call her own. He seemed to be familiar with the layout of her flat, because he walked right up to a small counter and picked up a cordless telephone. "You may call me at my own apartment if you wish to. I will put my number in your contacts."

"Thank you," she said softly.

"You are welcome. I must return to Starfleet Academy but we have much to discuss, Miss Granger. I suggest you rest and have something to eat." Mr. Spock hovered in her doorway for a moment. It seemed as though he had more to say, but changed his mind at the last moment. "I will see you tomorrow."

Hermione frowned at him. "Shouldn't you get some rest as well, Mr. Spock?"

"Vulcans do not require as much sleep as humans," he said.

"But you're half-human."

His mouth twitched ever so slightly. "Your concern is noted and appreciated, Miss Granger. Sleep well." He gently closed the door behind him as he left.

Hermione drifted through her new home slowly. It was rather small, though not intolerably so. The kitchen had all of the conventional appliances, which amused her for the simple fact that with a food replicator there was really no need for an oven- who on earth would cook anything when all you had to do was… whatever you did to use a replicator.

She didn't know how to use it.

She glanced at her telephone.

_Do I need money to order a pizza?_

She went over to her replicator and studied it. It looked like a microwave, really. She jabbed at the keypad curiously. It beeped and the replicator began to buzz for a moment.

_Oh no… _

It beeped a final time. She pulled the little door open and peered inside. There was a sandwich, a small salad, and a bowl of soup. She didn't particularly feel like experimenting with the replicator at the moment, so she took the tray out and sat down at her table to eat. When she turned the telly on she was bombarded with footage of the attack on Starfleet Headquarters. It made her shiver to see so much carnage knowing she'd been in the middle of it all, but she kept watching anyway.

After a long, hot shower she collapsed in her bed and stared up at the blank white ceiling. She couldn't imagine how she would ever fall asleep when she was so preoccupied thinking about Mr. Spock and what he'd been working on, but after only a few minutes of lying in her soft, clean bed she found herself drifting off into slumber.

* * *

"51.5072° North, 0.1275° West," said Mr. Spock. "These are the geographical coordinates for your point of origin. The temporal coordinates are June the 20th, 1996. I have a theory for your leap through time, Miss Granger."

They were sitting across from each other at a small table in Mr. Spock's temporary flat. Hermione had not failed to notice that his living arrangement was considerably nicer than her own. There was a very large window facing out to San Francisco Bay, which let in plenty of natural light. Everything in his home was sleek, modern, and quite minimalistic. The countertops and kitchen appliances were all black and chrome and the floor was carpeted with a soft, springy white material. There were two small couches gathered around a glass coffee table and facing a telly built right into the wall.

She guessed that being a first officer aboard a starship must pay well. But then, she wasn't entirely sure money even existed anymore. "You do?" she said, looking up at him in surprise.

"Yes. I have created an equation using the coordinates from your point of origin and the coordinates of your reappearance- the time and location you reappeared- that uses the theory of the two not being mutually exclusive." When she gave him a bewildered look he added, "You jumped through space which also would cause you to jump through time."

"Ermm… which would mean…?"

Mr. Spock's mouth twitched ever so slightly. "If you were to- I believe the term is apparate? If you were to apparate from 51.5072° North, 0.1275° West to the exact point in space where you appeared, it would take precisely the amount of time that had elapsed since you left those coordinates, thus causing you to 'travel' through time. The probability that those coordinates in combination with the coordinates of your reappearance would place you aboard the_ Enterprise_ is nearly non-existent. Had you travelled even one centimeter further you would have reappeared in space at a time when the _Enterprise_ was not at that location."

For one wild moment Hermione entertained the possibility that Mr. Spock was quite mad. "I think I understand," she said weakly. "But what does that mean?"

He tilted his head. "It means that working in reverse with the same equation will provide the coordinates needed to return you to your own time and place."

Her heart jumped into her throat. "You know how to get me home?"

"It is only a theory," he said. His voice was softer than she'd ever heard it, and he leaned across the table slightly. "Putting it into practice would be far too dangerous. There is also the matter of _how _you managed to travel so far through space. We have no way of replicating that."

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat and looked away, trying very hard not to tear up. She'd promised herself she would keep her emotions in check. She was startled when he reached across the table and took her hand in his. When she looked up at him once more his eyes seemed to be gleaming with a dozen unnameable emotions. His thin shoulders drooped slightly.

"I am… sorry, Miss Granger." He looked down at their hands clasped together. "I had noticed," he added softly, studying her hand, "that your mind is much like mine in many ways." He seemed oddly distracted, suddenly, as he wrapped his fingers around hers.

Hermione knew that Vulcans were touch telepaths, had even experienced a mind-meld before, but somehow when she was abruptly sucked into his mind the sensation stunned her- she hadn't been ready for it. And suddenly she felt she knew Mr. Spock and had known him all her life. She saw the way a single thought mutated and brought forth a dozen more and each of those thoughts brought a dozen more so that she was caught in a sort of whirlwind, and underneath all of that was something locked away, as though to keep it safe, to keep it secure. The moment she wondered what it was he kept hidden the answer sprang to mind and she became absorbed in his feelings as well.

It was as though they'd become one mind.

_Yes_.

That thought did not belong to her, and yet it was in her head all the same.

_Yes,_ she thought, _I see._

As abruptly as it had started the telepathic connection stopped. Mr. Spock jerked his hand away from hers as though she'd physically burned him. Hermione was left rather dazed and with the vague sensation of wanting something- though what that was, she had no idea. She felt herself slump down in her chair as she stared at her hand.

"You have not made contact with the wizarding world?"

She looked up at Mr. Spock. He seemed to have recovered himself, for that odd gleam had left his eyes and he appeared coolly impassive once more. "No- I mean, yes. Yes, I spoke to the American Bureau of Magical Law Enforcement." She smiled grimly. "It did not go well."

"They did not offer assistance?"

"They did, but I don't think they would be able to help at all." She sighed and pushed her hair back behind her ears. "Witches and wizards don't even use magic anymore unless they absolutely have to, because muggles have the technology to detect it. You need a permit to have a wand, but they don't have any wizarding schools, so even if someone had to use magic they wouldn't know how. The magical world may as well not even exist."

He lifted one eyebrow. "Fascinating."

Hermione had to remind herself that he was half-Vulcan and therefore not inclined towards empathy. "I think they would have been better-off if they weren't so concerned with hiding," she said.

"That is possible," he said. "The loss of your culture is regrettable, Hermione."

She glanced at him in surprise, for he'd never called her by her given name until now. "I would have rather found out that there were no witches and wizards left," she said softly. "It's horrible to think there are people like me out there who are supressing their magic. That's what the government does now, you see. They teach children to ignore the fact that they're a witch or wizard. The man I spoke to seemed proud that they'd survived at all… but I'd hardly call that survival."

"You are grieving." Mr. Spock stood and walked towards the large window, his hands clasped behind his back. "I understand."

Hermione watched him as he stared out the window. Were his shoulders quivering slightly or was she imagining that? "I thought it would be best for me to stay with Starfleet," she said quietly.

"A logical choice," he said.

"Mr. Spock-"

"Formality is unnecessary." He turned on his heel and slowly returned to his seat across from her. His movements had become odd, controlled and deliberate. "You may call me Spock if you wish."

She didn't know why she was so pleased to be on a first-name basis with him. "Spock… if there was a way for me to travel the required distance given in your equation… could you send me home?"

"Theoretically," he said, "yes."

For the first time she felt a flutter of hope. Theoretically possible. That was better than nothing, wasn't it? She considered him for a moment- something had changed in his demeanor but she couldn't put her finger on it. "Will you help me find a way home, Spock?"

"I think it would be unwise to exercise false hope, Hermione. I will not make promises to you that I cannot keep. At the moment the Klingon Empire has engaged the Federation in war, and as a member of Starfleet I have an obligation to participate in any way Starfleet Command requires me to." He looked away and she almost wondered if he felt guilty. "But I will do what I can. It may not be enough."

"I don't know what else to do," she said quietly. "Besides hope. I don't belong anywhere. And in my own time… the wizarding world is having its own war. And my best friend is caught in the middle of it."

Spock leaned forward and rested his elbows on the small table. "You must also consider the fact that if you were to return home, you might disrupt the timeline," he said. "It may not be the ethical choice. You may alter the course of history in ways you cannot predict."

Hermione was too embarrassed to admit that she had not even considered that. It was true, though. Or was it? "But if I returned to the exact time and location where I disappeared from, it wouldn't matter," she said. "It would be like I never left."

"But you have knowledge of the future. You have said it yourself that you believe the magical world might have been better-served by allowing the outside world to know it exists."

She couldn't decide whether she liked his logic or hated it, and she couldn't honestly tell herself that she wouldn't use her knowledge of the future either. "You're right." She sighed heavily. "Of course you're right. I know enough about time travel to know people can't just meddle with it."

"What is the nature of this conflict occurring in your own time?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows at him. "Have you got a few hours?"

Spock did something she hadn't seen him do before. He smiled. It changed his entire demeanour, softened his mouth and reached his dark eyes, making them gleam with amusement. She felt herself smile back at him automatically, charmed as she was. "Perhaps an abridged version," he said. "I am curious about your world, Hermione."

She didn't know where to start. "It's a long story," she said, "but I suppose the simplest explanation would be that there is a wizard who is very taken with dark magic, who is trying to gain control over Britain's magical community. Recently he's gained more power than he ever had before."

His smile vanished and he looked very much the stoic and serious Vulcan. "What does he hope to accomplish by gaining such control? Does he have political aspirations?"

"Well… some wizarding families see themselves as superior to others because they're pure-bloods. It's a silly term," she said quickly. "All it means is they have no non-magical heritage. They think that muggle-borns shouldn't be allowed to learn magic or be a part of the wizarding world. He's one of them. Probably the worst, in fact. When he was a student at Hogwarts he killed a muggle-born girl."

Spock's eyebrows shot up. "This man murdered a child simply because her parents were muggles?"

"Yes."

"I assume 'muggle' is a term used for non-magical humans?"

"Yes."

"I see. Are you muggle-born, Hermione?"

"I am," she said, "which is why pure-blood supremacy is rubbish. I'm certainly much better at magic than a fair few of my fellow students who happen to be pure-bloods."

"Then you have a personal investment in this conflict." He crossed his arms and frowned. "I do not understand how magic can be considered 'dark.' What defines it as such?"

"Any magic that's used specifically to hurt people," Hermione said, "or that hurts people in the process of helping the person using it. It's a bit more complex than that, of course." She was beginning to feel homesick, talking about this, but at the same time it felt good to share her world and its complexities with someone else. She'd never felt so isolated before, and it made her feel just slightly better being able to talk openly about the magical world. It certainly didn't hurt that the one person she could talk to was Spock.

"How is your friend involved in this?"

"Harry? He's the only person who has ever survived being attacked by Voldemort. He murdered Harry's parents when Harry was a baby, then tried to kill him as well. But the curse backfired," she said, well-aware that she probably sounded mental. "Voldemort has been after Harry ever since."

Spock shook his head slowly, his eyebrows furrowed in thought. If he thought she was spouting nonsense he didn't show it. "You are far too young to be involved in such a situation," he said softly.

Hermione gave him a grim smile. "I don't feel young," she said.

A soft knock interrupted them. Spock looked rather reluctant to answer it, but he did so nonetheless, rising and going to his door. "Nyota," he said.

Hermione turned in her seat. It was Lieutenant Uhura, the communications officer. She stepped in and wrapped her arms around Spock, kissing him on the cheek, her fingers touching his ears lovingly. Then she noticed Hermione and her arms immediately fell to her sides. "I didn't know you had company," she said. "Hello Hermione. How are you?"

"I'm well." She was genuinely surprised- at no point had Spock even hinted at being romantically linked to his fellow officer. It put an entirely new spin on the conversation she'd had with Lieutenant Uhura yesterday. "I should be off, though," she added, thinking the two probably wanted some time alone.

Spock gave her an odd look but nodded curtly. "I have something for you, Hermione. It is a small amount of Federation credit. There is a shopping district several blocks away. If you should need anything," he said, offering her a small plastic card.

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment. She didn't want to be a charity case. "I can't take money from you," she said.

"It is not 'money' in the sense that you would be familiar with," he said, "and I have no use for it. I insist." He slid the card into her hand and she reluctantly pocketed it.

"Thank you," she mumbled. "I'll see you later, I suppose." She made a hasty, awkward exit, waving goodbye to Lieutenant Uhura. She wandered out onto the sunny San Francisco street and decided she may as well explore a little bit. Starfleet was far too busy with the Klingon situation to deal with a single time-travelling girl, so she had no obligations to attend to today. Sitting around in her flat would only drive her crazy.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thank you for the feedback. This chapter was like pulling teeth, so if it jumps around or is subpar in any way, I am sorry. My head is in the clouds this week.**

**Chapter #6**

* * *

Spock allowed himself the luxury of stretching out on his bed, his toes pointed downwards, his fingers splayed across the comforter. In his mind he was working with numbers, coordinates and trajectories and vectors, mentally playing out various scenarios. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the uncomfortable sensation of warmth spreading through his chest into his limbs. His body was becoming fevered.

The soft drum of his shower running made him sit up. He was irritated by the disruption and wanted complete silence. That was troubling to him, the fact that he felt irritated and seemed incapable of ignoring it. Many things were troubling him lately and he did not know why. He was preoccupied with the case of the young time-traveller, the girl with the curious ability to manipulate psionic energy in seemingly incalculable ways.

The first time he'd melded with her Spock had found himself quite fascinated by Hermione Granger. He enjoyed the way her mind worked. Her thoughts were rooted firmly in logic and he found it strangely comforting, like being in the company of an old friend. The sensation of being intimately linked to another mind generally persisted for several minutes after severing the connection, but he found this was not the case with the girl. It persisted even now. He felt connected to her in some way, and that connection gave him the strangest sense of obligation. He did not resent it- in fact, he enjoyed feeling responsible for her. He found he had to remind himself frequently that he was not.

Nyota emerged from the shower in a cloud of steam, a towel wrapped around her thin shoulders, her hair piled on top of her head. She had spent the night with him. It had been difficult for him to concentrate his attention on her when his mind was still so engaged with Hermione Granger. He'd tried his best to be attentive, because she had a tendency to become despondent when even a small part of him was focused on something else. He understood her need to have him express how he enjoyed her companionship.

"Well, we were due for shore leave anyway," she said, pulling her towel from her body and using it to dry her hair.

"Yes, but being forced to return to Earth due to an attack orchestrated by the Klingon Empire is hardly an optimal situation," he said.

Nyota smiled and gathered her hair in one hand to tie it back. "Not optimal?"

"I would have preferred an alternative." He watched as she dressed herself in civilian clothing.

"I just mean that I'm glad we have some time to spend together," she said, sitting next to him on his bed and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "It may not be optimal, but it's nice."

Spock forcibly pushed all other thoughts out of his mind and gave her his full attention, settling one arm around her waist. She slid her hand through his hair and kissed him. "You're warm," she murmured.

"I am developing a fever," he said, kissing her back, allowing himself to enjoy how soft her lips were. Her mouth tasted like spearmint- she'd used his toothpaste again.

"Is there anything I can do for that?" Her tone of voice suggested she was teasing him.

"It's of no concern."

Nyota pulled away from him, her lips pursed into a frown. He sensed her displeasure but did not know where it came from. They had had an enjoyable night. She'd cooked him dinner and they played a short game of chess before retiring to bed. Sometimes he thought he would never understand how humans could be so… afflicted, by emotions.

"You've been distant, Spock."

"How would you like me to be?" he asked her quietly, though he already knew the answer. She would not say it, but he knew that it was there.

"I'd like you to be happy," she said.

He knew what she meant to say. She wanted him to be human. It had become a point of contention between them. She loved the human part of him, but it was not enough. He could not be fully human any more than he could be completely Vulcan. "Nyota," he said, "I am content."

"You don't seem content."

"Please," he said, watching her rise and gather her belongings, "do not misinterpret the situation based on your emotions."

She threw him a look that suggested he'd said the wrong thing. "Never mind," she said. "I shouldn't have brought it up. But sometimes you act as though I'm not important to you and it makes me feel like you don't care."

They had been having this very argument for quite some time. It seemed to recur during particularly stressful events. "I cannot comprehend why you feel-"

"I can't comprehend why you _don't_ feel," she cut him off, her voice rising slightly. "Just once I would like a little emotional support, Spock. Just once."

"I have no desire to continuously argue over the same point," he said. "I am half-Vulcan, Nyota. I will always place logic above emotion. It does not mean I do not love you."

"Please explain to me how you can say you love me when you constantly make decisions as if you don't."

He merely stared at her, trying to keep his frustration in check. She shook her head and left. He heard his apartment door slam shut forcefully. Such an outburst from her made him think that perhaps he ought to re-evaluate their relationship. It was becoming increasingly clear that she required something he could not give. He struggled to define what that was, but it was obviously something she needed.

Nyota was not happy. Not unless she had his attention. She wanted him to allow his feelings for her to control his actions. He simply could not do that, no matter how strong his feelings were. Sometimes it seemed she understood that, and other times it seemed she did not. As of late it was more often the latter.

He closed his eyes and focused entirely on his breathing, letting all of his thoughts go, accepting his emotions for what they were and calmly dismissing them as well. His internal temperature was rising still and he found that curious, but inconsequential.

* * *

Three days passed before Spock decided he ought to check on Hermione Granger, to ensure she was adjusting to her new home. He was unable to convince himself that his concern for her stemmed from a professional obligation- she was, after all, in the care of Starfleet. He was a Starfleet officer. Yet he knew he had no business with her. He was not involved in her case. Once she had left the Enterprise he was absolved of any responsibility he might have towards her. It was not logical for him to involve himself in her situation. His attention was needed elsewhere.

Still, he found himself distracted from his duties, his mind straying repeatedly to the young woman when he should be focused on the task at hand. After three days of this Spock reasoned with himself that the logical thing to do would be to ensure she was indeed doing well. Perhaps then he would be able to put her out of his mind.

After a rather heated debate amongst Starfleet's top officials regarding the Klingon situation, he left the academy and went directly to Hermione's apartment, allowing himself to once more ponder the means by which the girl had transported herself halfway across the galaxy.

'Magic' was such a vague and unscientific term, but he accepted that he did not possess the knowledge to fully explain it. While he himself was capable of manipulating the psionic energy fields to link his mind to that of another, his ability to do so was limited and required physical contact. What Hermione was capable of far surpassed anything a Vulcan could do. Yet she was human. There had to be an explanation. He assumed it must be hereditary. But then, as she had pointed out, her parents were not capable of this 'magic.' Any which way Spock examined the problem led him to the simple fact that he had no explanation.

He rang her doorbell and waited patiently, hands clasped behind his back. The sound of shuffling feet and a heavy sigh penetrated through the door. He heard her slide back the deadbolt, and she poked her head out, looking up at him in surprise.

"Hello," she said.

"Good evening," he said.

Hermione Granger wrinkled her nose. "Is it?"

"I was merely greeting you in a conventional manner."

She laughed and swung the door open to allow him inside. "Sorry. Would you like to come in? It's a bit messy at the moment… I've been….ermm…. not doing much of anything, really."

Spock inclined his head and stepped into her apartment. It was not terribly disorganized, though there were two trays of untouched meals on her table and a half-finished mug of tea. A few articles of clothing were slung over the back of the sofa. Hermione closed the door behind him and wandered to her table.

"I pushed the wrong buttons on the replicator," she said, gathering her unfinished meals and carrying them into her kitchen. "I'm not entirely sure how it works, really. I assume every type of food has its own numerical code?"

He inspected her appearance more carefully as she cleared her personal belongings from the sofa, noting her flushed cheeks and disheveled, uncombed hair, attempting to gauge her mental state. "Yes, that is precisely how it works," he said. "Are you well, Hermione?"

She shrugged her small shoulders in a manner that did nothing to answer his question. "Would you like some tea?"

Caffeine would have no effect on his Vulcan metabolism, but he assumed she was merely offering tea as a social norm. It would be construed as impolite if he declined. "Yes. Have you adjusted to your accommodations?"

She fretted with the replicator and handed him a mug of tea. "Would you like anything in it?"

"No, this will… suffice," he said, sitting across from her on the small sofa. Twice now she had avoided answering a personal question. Perhaps she did not want to talk about herself. But he had come here with the intention of ensuring her well-being, and he would not be satisfied until he had a direct answer. "Hermione, I apologize for persisting with personal questions, but-"

"I'm all right," she interrupted him quickly, her eyes falling to the floor as she settled into the sofa. "Really. I've been watching the news and reading." She pointed at the coffee table. He looked down and saw that she'd acquired a PADD, a small handheld computer that allowed her to access information whenever she needed it. "I found a public library," she added with a smile that suggested she was quite pleased with herself.

"I've been reading about warp drive technology. It's interesting that the Federation sees the capability to achieve warp-travel as the mark for an advanced civilization." She sipped at her tea thoughtfully. "In the wizarding world we use portkeys if we need to travel very far, but they only take you to a specific location. Still, I think the principle behind the two may be the same."

` Spock took a moment to appreciate her desire to gain knowledge, though he knew she was doing so with the sole intention of finding her way home. He knew many adolescent humans considered learning something of a secondary concern- even Nyota, when she had first arrived at Starfleet Academy, had placed social activities above academic ones. "In what way do you think the principle is the same?"

Hermione picked up her PADD and tapped the screen to activate it. "Warp travel uses a subspace bubble that sort of… encases a starship and distorts the spacetime continuum. Obviously there's a lot of technology used to achieve warp, whereas a portkey might make use of a subspace bubble generated by magic. I suppose," she added with an earnest smile. "The difference being a starship can go where it pleases but a portkey has a set route."

There was that word again. Magic. A subspace bubble generated by magic. But if she was capable of manipulating matter, space, and time, it seemed a plausible explanation. "That is possible," he said.

"There's also transporter technology," she said, disengaging her PADD and placing it back down on the table, "which is quite similar to apparition, in that it has a limited range and you need to lock on to a location before transporting. It's curious, really, how Earth has the technology to imitate magic in some ways. It makes me wonder if there's any point to the Statute of Secrecy."

"I believe technology has certain limitations that your 'magic' does not."

"Oh, magic has its limitations. Anything conjured out of thin air tends not to last. I can't conjure food or money- according to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration- and I can't bring back the dead or create love. Although, there are potions that imitate love. And love is its very own branch of magic. In fact I've heard it's the most potent type of magic there is."

He found her constant stream of chatter oddly endearing. It was as though her voice was directly attached to her thoughts with no filter between what ran through her mind and what she said. But her statement regarding love piqued his curiosity more than her chatter about the limitations of magic. "Love is considered a type of magic?"

Hermione chewed on her lower lip, a habit she seemed to indulge in when considering questions of a more abstract nature. "Yes," she said eventually. "Emotions play a big part in magic. With dark magic, for example, the intent to cause harm has to be there or it won't work. As for love… well, it's a difficult thing to explain. I suppose emotions are a sort of foundation to build on when using magic. Love can make protective charms more powerful. There's a spell called the Patronus charm- it's used to fight off Dementors- and to conjure a Patronus you need to recall a time when you felt happy. And the spell used to fight boggarts…" She trailed off awkwardly when Spock raised his eyebrows at her.

"What is a Dementor?"

"It's a creature- it's rather difficult to explain. They sort of suck all of the good feelings out of you and make you feel miserable. They were used as guards in Azkaban, a wizarding prison."

"I see," he said, though he struggled to grasp the concept of a creature with the capacity to rob a person of happiness. He also thought perhaps he had underestimated her magical world. It seemed far more complex than he'd originally believed, and the more he learned about the more curious he became. "And what is a boggart?"

"It's a harmless enough creature," she said. "It takes the form of whatever you fear most."

"Have you encountered a boggart before?"

"Yes, in my third year it was part of the final exam for Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"And what form did it take?"

"One of my teachers. She told me I failed everything." Hermione shuddered as though simply recalling the memory was terrifying to her. She wrapped her hands around her mug of tea and sipped at it, her brown eyes vacant for a moment. "What's your greatest fear, Spock?"

Fear, the most dreadful and crushing emotion he knew. Fear of failure, fear of death, fear of his own human half. He knew fear, but also knew how to control it. Yet she spoke as though having control over one's fear meant nothing. He considered that for a moment before answering. "I choose not to feel fear, Hermione."

"You make it sound easy," she murmured.

"I am a Vulcan." His communicator beeped , notifying him that someone was attempting to contact him. He flipped it open. "Spock here."

"I'll be a little late tonight, Spock. I have to stay at the academy- they have me intercepting radio transmissions from the Klingons."

Spock did not answer immediately. The argument they had had several days ago still lingered between them, unspoken but present, creating more tension than usual. He did not want to anger her when she had work to do.

"Spock?"

"Good luck with your work, Nyota. I am certain-"

"Would it be so difficult for you to say that's too bad?" Even through the communicator her voice, typically kind and calm, sounded upset. "Forget it. I'll see you later."

Spock closed his communicator and returned it to his pocket, glancing up at Hermione. "I apologize," he said.

She shrugged her little shoulders and sipped at her tea once more. He waited for her to enquire about his relationship, as most humans found it quite difficult to respect the personal matters of others, but she simply resumed their earlier conversation as though the call had never happened- and that impressed him. "At any rate, if I can find a way to make a sort of portkey that will let me travel as far as I did when I jumped through time, then I should theoretically be able to go home. The problem is, I don't know how to make portkeys. And even if I did," she said softly, "I wouldn't be able to. Not without being detected, by the muggle and wizarding world."

She still had not accepted the high probability of her being stuck here. Spock did not know how to tell her without upsetting her. The last time they'd spoken he'd tried to suggest it as gently as possible, yet she still clung to the hope that she might be able to go home. He did not want to dampen her mood, for she seemed content enough tonight. "I understand your desire to return home. My concern is that you are not looking at the alternatives," he said slowly.

Hermione lowered her head and stared down at her tea. Spock had the distinct impression that he'd upset her, despite his best efforts to be gentle. "I know," she said, "I know. But… I just…. There must be a way, Spock."

Seeing her look despondent was most disagreeable to him. "I have not quite exhausted all of my resources on the subject, Hermione."

Her eyes flickered up to his and she smiled once more.

* * *

It became quite routine for him to pay Hermione Granger a visit several times per week. The Enterprise was grounded and the Federation had suspended most interstellar travel while negotiations with the Klingons stalled, so he found himself with considerable amounts of free time. Under other circumstances it might have bothered him, but Spock so enjoyed the young woman's company that he could pass several hours discussing any number of things with her.

She had asked him about the admission exam for admittance into Starfleet Academy, and so he set about teaching her the necessary materials she would need to know. It was difficult. She had no background knowledge. But he had been an instructor before and found that returning to that role was easy and enjoyable. Hermione had a very capable mind that readily absorbed new material. She was enthusiastic, dedicated, and clever- all of the traits he liked to see in a student.

As the weeks went by she talked less about her own time and appeared to slowly accept her new circumstances. Spock did everything he possibly could to help her settle into this world. He obtained identification for her so that she was an official citizen of the Federation. He brought her independent course packages so that she could write the test for a Secondary Education Diploma. He made himself available to her whenever she might have a question or if she needed something. Occasionally she would call him and make a random inquiry- about the political system, or healthcare, or the economy.

When she obtained her Secondary Education Diploma he took her out for dinner to celebrate her achievement.

"Considering your background, a score of 92 is very impressive," he said, studying the menu in front of him.

Hermione made a small noise in the back of her throat that sounded almost displeased. "I could have done better."

Spock glanced up at her. She had pulled her hair back and looked quite attractive, with her back straight and her chin lifted slightly, poised and confident. One would not know she was only sixteen. In comparison to the shy, shell-shocked girl she'd been mere weeks ago, she appeared much older. "Perfection is not a particularly realistic goal, Hermione."

She smiled, still studying the menu. "I know. It was the short answer questions that I lost marks on. I got all of the mathematical problems right." Her little nose wrinkled as she read. "What on earth is sem'hal stew?"

"A Cardassian dish. This particular establishment is known for its interstellar food." He tilted his head slightly and added, "Avoid anything Andorian, they have very poor taste."

That made her laugh. "Is there Vulcan cuisine on here?"

"There is, but I have found it slightly inferior to a properly prepared Vulcan meal, with the exception of the plomeek soup and kreyla," he said, "which I highly recommend."

She ordered the soup and kreyla, along with a platter of fruit for an appetizer. Spock ordered the same thing, as the plomeek soup was the main reason he'd chosen this particular restaurant. It reminded him of home, and his mother. He'd so loved going home after a long and productive day to find his mother laboring over a large pot of soup that she'd started that morning. She would have him grab a spoon and taste while she threw spices into the pot and stirred.

She would ask him what it needed more of. "More salt, Spock? Or red spice?"

Spock would insist that he required another spoonful before determining the correct answer.

"I think I would like to major in theoretical physics," Hermione said.

He nodded in approval. "That would provide you with any number of opportunities in Starfleet." He didn't feel it necessary to say it might be useful in her finding a way home. Undoubtedly that was part of her reasoning anyway.

"Or perhaps exobiology," she said. "I would like to be a science officer."

Much like himself, it seemed, she struggled to accept the fact that she would have to choose a single subject to focus on. "I'm confident you would do well in whatever field you choose."

She flashed him another smile as a server set a platter of fruit in front of them and refilled their glasses. "I don't know what half of these are," she said, plucking a slice of gespar from the platter and tasting it cautiously. "But this is good."

"Gespar," he said. "A fruit native to Vulcan."

She tried a bit of each fruit she didn't recognize and had him identify what she was eating. He found himself amused throughout the entire meal, as she turned her nose up at the favinit butter that came with her kreyla, and when she openly stared at an Orion woman who clearly had her human escort enthralled. Spock imagined Hermione's experience here would be akin to dropping him in the middle of her world, perhaps in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. The simplest things one tended to take for granted seemed to amaze her.

"Look at that," she whispered. "She must be from Orion, right?"

"I would assume," he said, suppressing the urge to smile.

Hermione had spent enough time in his company to recognize his frame of mind. "Are you making fun of me, Spock?"

"No," he said. "I would never mock you."

"Hmph," she snorted, dunking her kreyla into her soup and taking a bite out of it.

After dinner they opted to walk back to her apartment building. The heat of early summer warmed the night air and seeped into his muscles, a pleasant and familiar sensation. They discussed physics, and the need for instant acceleration when crossing great distances in short amounts of time. Idly he suggested that she might want to speak to Officer Montgomery Scott about her theories regarding so-called instantaneous faster-than-light travel. Spock himself was no physicist.

She became very animated once more as they talked. He so enjoyed the way her eyes lit up and her face brightened when she grasped a new concept or came across a new idea. He still felt a trace of her mental signature in his mind, though it had been several weeks since he'd shared a telepathic connection with her, but Spock did not find it disagreeable. Her mind intrigued him so much that he found himself tracing the shadowy remains of her signature and wishing it was stronger.

* * *

"This is your fault. I sincerely hope that you realize that, Potter. It's time you face a few consequences for your actions- maybe now you will have some regard for what your teachers tell you."

Harry bowed his head in shame and stared at his trainers, which appeared rather fuzzy and blurred. A tear found its way down his cheek. He wiped it away and tried to ignore the horrid noises Ron was making. "I thought Sirius-"

"You put the lives of your closest friends in danger based on a dream. I thought you had more sense than that, boy! Because of your actions we have lost a student!"

"I think," Snape said, rising from his chair and crossing the hospital wing to stand next to McGonagall, "that will do, Minerva."

"I am his head of house-"

"Perhaps it would be prudent," said Dumbledore, looking between Snape and McGonagall, "if we reserve comments for a later time. It has been quite a long night, and I must speak to you in private, Harry."

"Can't it wait?" Sirius, who had been silent for almost the entire time, stood and placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, an attempt to comfort him. But he was beyond any sort of comfort. He couldn't feel much of anything except an overwhelming sense of horror. "I'm sure Harry's had a long night as well."

Dumbledore shook his head. "I am afraid not, Sirius. This conversation should have happened much earlier, and I believe it would be best if we had it now. Harry?"

He wanted to scream at the headmaster, he wanted to be angry but all he could manage to feel was shocked disbelief. She couldn't be gone. It couldn't be real, the way the night had played out. Sirius was here, safe, but one of his best friends had vanished without a trace and even with the Ministry on high alert they still had not found her. Worse, the Unspeakable had taken one look at the space chamber and had declared that she was irretrievable.

Ron would not stop crying. And all Harry could do was fight off his own tears while the world seemed to spin out of control like a whirling dervish, tilting madly this way and that. Gone. Hermione, gone. McGonagall was right. It was all his fault, he'd put his friends' lives on the line and Hermione had paid for it.

He sank down on a hospital bed, laid his head in his hands, and groaned.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter #7**

* * *

That weekend Hermione returned to Starfleet Academy to meet with Montgomery Scott, chief engineering officer of the Enterprise. Spock had arranged the meeting for her with the suggestion that she bounce her ideas off of Mr. Scott, as he was an excellent physicist, so Hermione hopped the bus quite early in the morning and wandered around the academy for a bit. She was cold for the first time since arriving in San Francisco, which was funny, because it was July and she was in California, but she'd evidently acclimatized to the area because on this wet, dreary morning she could not stop shivering.

She was in a contemplative mood as she meandered along a walking path lined by great redwood trees that towered into the grey sky. This might very well be her home in the future. Starfleet Academy. It gave her a little kick of excitement to think about it. She'd spent the past month completely absorbed in her PADD, reading as much as possible about every subject imaginable.

Admittance into Starfleet Academy was competitive- they selected only the best and brightest, and she was at a distinct disadvantage having grown up in a completely different world. Even if she'd been a muggle and had gone to muggle school rather than Hogwarts, she still would have struggled with the sheer volume of information needed to pass the admissions exam.

She shivered and hurried up the steps into the Engineering Department as the slight drizzle turned into a steady downpour.

* * *

Hermione could scarcely keep up with Montgomery Scott's rambling. He had a thick, rolling Glaswegian accent that reminded her of home, and when he spoke he often went off on tangents only semi-related to the subject at hand, which rather grated on her nerves. She supposed she'd been spending too much time with Spock- she was used to his logical progression of thoughts and analytic approach to everything. She wanted to tell Mr. Scott to stay on topic but considering he was doing her a favor by giving her a primer on advanced theoretical physics, she thought it would be quite rude to do so.

"So you see," he said, snapping his fingers in front of her, "there's no physical way to move someone from point A to point B instantly. It just cannot be done. You'd violate the laws of the universe. And the universe does not like to be violated."

Hermione stared at him for a full two seconds before giving her head a little shake to clear her mind. "So what you're saying," she said, "is that even at, say, warp factor ten, it would still be impossible to travel that much distance in such a short amount of time."

"Aye, and even if you managed it, you'd be travelling through time as well, wouldn't you? You cannot pick and choose which one you'll cut through, you see what I'm saying, Hermione? That much speed would warp time far out of proportion to space and… aye, it's complicated." He scratched his head and sat down across from her at the table. "Am I to assume this has something to do with time travel? Because that's an entirely different subject, lass."

"In a way," she said.

"I suppose you're wanting to travel back in time?"

"Yes," she admitted.

Mr. Scott crossed his arms and lapsed into silence for the first time. It didn't suit him at all, being quiet. He drummed his fingers against his body and stared down at the table, wordless. Then he looked up at her and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Hermione. Temporal physics are a tricky thing. Give me a few weeks and an equation to work with, and I might be able to help you. But I have nothing to work with. I don't know how you managed to break the laws of the universe."

Hermione was tempted to be disheartened, but she shrugged off her disappointment and smiled at him. "It's all right, Mr. Scott. I suppose Mr. Spock thought you might have some insight considering you're one of the brightest physicists Starfleet has."

"Aye, well- did Mr. Spock say that?" His eyebrows shot up and he grinned. He had the sort of grin that took years off of his face, made him look like a giddy youngster rather than an adult.

"Not in so many words," she said, grinning back at him, "but he implied it. I wanted to ask you about Starfleet Academy as well. You took advanced theoretical physics?"

"Aye. It was a bloody nightmare."

"Are there many opportunities in experimental physics?"

Mr. Scott shook his head. "You're a strange lass, you know that? You ought to be thinking about having fun and enjoying your youth while you've got it, not worrying about experimental physics. There is a course that focuses primarily on that, mind you. Interesting, too. The instructor's a right git, though."

Hermione had plenty enough experience with nasty teachers. "Mr. Scott," she said, "there's nothing I find more fun than investing in my future."

"Fair enough. It's little wonder Mr. Spock is so… ah, fond of you." He chuckled to himself.

She felt a slight flush creep into her face and tried to fight it off. "Well, at any rate…. Ermm… thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Mr. Scott."

"Not a problem, love. I'd best be getting back to work now. We've a bit more tweaking to do with the Enterprise." He rose and escorted her out of the little office. "I've got some old course material available if you'd like to do a bit of reading," he said.

"I'd like that. Take care, Mr. Scott." She shook his hand politely and left. Despite not really receiving any answers from him, she still had a bit of bounce in her step. Just thinking about getting her hands on some course material from Starfleet Academy sent a nice little burst of energy through her. As she meandered across the green Hermione spotted Lieutenant Uhura- she was chatting with several other women, her hands making wild gestures as though she was angry.

"I don't expect very much of him, Myra, but it would be nice to know he cares, you know?"

"Well… he is a Vulcan. You know how they are."

"But he's half-human as well! And I know he's capable of showing me how he feels. It would be different if he was incapable of it. It's just… the fact that he chooses not to. It drives me insane, it really does."

Overhearing such a private conversation made her feel oddly guilty, yet intrigued. After all, Lieutenant Uhura had once told her that Vulcans and humans were completely capable of having a relationship despite their differences, and hearing otherwise rather piqued her interest. And if she was honest with herself, which she tried hard to be, Hermione was quite attached to Spock. She'd grown quite close with him, she cared about him, and if he was going through personal problems with his girlfriend she wanted to know about it. Even if it was none of her business.

"Lieutenant Uhura," she said as the group of women approached.

"Oh, Hermione! I didn't see you there. What are you doing at Starfleet Academy?"

"I just had a meeting with Mr. Scott." She wondered if the woman might have discussed her relationship a little more subtly if she had noticed Hermione nearby. "Is everything all right?"

Lieutenant Uhura smiled- perhaps a bit too widely- and nodded. "Oh yes, everything's fine. I'm just off to the cafeteria for lunch. You take care, Hermione." She carried on with her friends.

Hermione was a touch disappointed to be brushed off so quickly. But Lieutenant Uhura had not put enough distance between them for her next words to be indecipherable to Hermione's ears. "That's the girl I was telling you about. Spock's little pet project."

She kept walking towards the bus terminal, but the bounce in her step was gone. Pet project? Was that what she was to Spock? No, she knew he cared about her. Even Mr. Scott had said Spock was fond of her. And for Spock to give that impression despite being so difficult to read, it surely meant something, didn't it?

She was more bothered by that comment than she cared to admit, so she hopped the bus back to her flat and holed herself away for an afternoon of studying. After several hours of staring at her PADD a soft knock interrupted her reading and she hauled herself off of the sofa, checking her hair in the small mirror to make sure she looked presentable, assuming it would be Spock. He dropped in occasionally at random and it always seemed to happen when her hair was a mess and she hadn't bothered to change out of her pyjamas.

She opened the door with a smile that quickly vanished. "Hello?"

A middle-aged man in casual business clothes stood in her doorway. He looked down at her behind a pair of glasses. "Hermione Granger?"

"Ermm… yes?" She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat and told herself to be calm. She'd done nothing wrong. He could be anybody. "Can I help you?"

"My name is Frederick Newman. I am with the Bureau of Magical Law Enforcement. Your identification record was hard to get a hold of, but we've been trying to track you down for weeks." He gave her a very stern look.

Her mind went immediately to her wand, which she'd stashed away in her bedside table.

"I understand you have an unlicensed wand in your possession?" Mr. Newman took a few more steps into her flat. "Unfortunately I will have to confiscate it. You are always free to apply for a permit at any time, of course."

Hermione turned on her heel, ready to bolt into her bedroom to grab her wand, but out of the corner of her eye she saw the man draw something from his pocket and point it at her.

"That wouldn't be wise, Miss Granger."

She turned back around very slowly and faced him. He had a phaser pointed at her. "You can't take my wand from me," she said weakly, her mind racing, her stomach dropping to her knees. She'd come a long way towards accepting her situation, but she was nowhere near ready to forego her wand. It was a part of her. She was a witch, and nobody was going to take that away from her. Certainly not this man.

"We have laws, Miss Granger. Unfortunately, we have laws," he said grimly. "Now, where is the wand? Please direct me to its location."

She shook her head. "Please, sir-"

"You have no use for it," he said, his voice softening ever so slightly.

Her eyes burned slightly as she led him into her bedroom and pointed at her bedside table. "In there," she whispered. What choice did she have?

"Thank you, Miss Granger." He took her wand and slipped it into his pocket along with his phaser, then led her back into the living room "I am sorry, but you must understand. We can't have you running around with a wand, not without the proper paperwork and permit."

"But it's mine," she whispered, rubbing at her face to dry her tears. "I wouldn't use it, Mr. Newman. I'm not a fool."

He shook his head slowly as she spoke. "That is not the point, young lady. Frankly, you are lucky we don't have the power to charge you with attempted assault for threatening to use magic against one of our officers when we brought you in several-"

"Is there a problem?"

Hermione had never been more grateful to see Spock as he stepped into her doorway, his eyes flickering between herself and Mr. Newman, one eyebrow quirked upwards as though the situation playing out in front of him was little more than a math problem. She opened her mouth to tell him that this man was trying to take her wand from her, but stopped short when she realized that Spock was not allowed to know about magic.

She couldn't say anything.

"Not at all, I'm just on my way out."

Spock gave him a look that might possibly suggest anger if he was anything but a Vulcan. "I don't believe we have met. Science Officer Spock, of the U.S.S Enterprise. Hermione Granger is in the care of Starfleet due to her unusual circumstances. May I ask what your business with her is?"

"Oh, I was just asking a few questions."

Hermione saw what Spock couldn't see- the man's hand inched toward his pocket where he'd stored her wand and his phaser.

"Regarding what matter?" Spock managed to sound icy yet unemotional at the same time, which somehow made his voice all the more chilling.

"Just a private matter, Officer Spock. Excuse me, I have to be somewhere." Mr. Newman tried to step around Spock, who placed himself firmly in the doorway and looked down at the shorter man with an unreadable expression.

"May I ask, what is your name?"

Her common sense and logic faltered for a mere second, but it was enough. Hermione slid silently up behind Mr. Newman and snatched her wand right out of his pocket. He swung around and grabbed her wrist, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open as she stumbled away from him and pointed her wand at his chest. He yanked out his phaser and raised it. "Expelliarmus!" she cried. The phaser flew across the room and hit the wall at the other end of her flat.

Before the man could react Spock grabbed him by the shoulder and pinched his neck with his thumb and forefinger. Mr. Newman crumpled to the floor like a rag doll. Spock looked up at her and his dark eyes were perhaps slightly frightened, though Hermione thought she could be imagining that.

"Is he dead?" she asked dumbly, staring down at the unmoving Mr. Newman.

"No," Spock said, "merely unconscious. Who is he?"

"He's from the Bureau of Magical Law Enforcement." Hermione swallowed and tried to collect herself. She would be in worse trouble now- but then, what could they do? Send her to Azkaban? Did Azkaban still exist, anyway?

Spock stepped over Mr. Newman and raised his hand to her face, swiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb. She felt for the briefest moment as though they were mentally connected once more, his presence filling her mind, but the sensation vanished as quickly as it had come. "Are you unharmed?" he asked, his eyes going over her quickly, assessing, analyzing.

"I'm fine," she whispered, distracted by how close he was. She gave herself a mental shake and looked down at her wand. "I shouldn't have done that."

He lifted one eyebrow and glanced at her wand as well. "Why _did_ you do it?"

"I thought he was going to… to hex you, or something." Hermione rubbed the tears from her eyes impatiently and exhaled to calm herself. "Or Obliviate you. I don't know," she groaned. "They're so desperate to keep muggles in the dark…"

Spock rested his hand on her shoulder, his long fingers applying a gentle, reassuring pressure. "What do you mean by Obliviate?"

"A memory charm," she said. It occurred to her as she stared at the unconscious Mr. Newman that he probably didn't even know how to perform a memory charm. She'd made a dreadful mistake, one that the Vulcan in front of her never would have made. She'd been rash and stupid, only because she didn't want to give up her wand. "Oh, I really shouldn't have done that…"

"He may also have had intentions of using his phaser on me," Spock said calmly. "We have no way of knowing. Why is he here?"

"He was going to take my wand. I don't have a permit for it." Hermione wrung her hands together to relieve some of the anxiety building up in her chest. "I couldn't let him… even though I don't use it." She knew it didn't sound rational. "What am I going to do?"

He blinked slowly and paced back towards Mr. Newman, his hands clasped behind his back, ever the calm, collected first officer. "It is safe to assume, given his reaction to me, that I as a Starfleet Officer have authority over him. Your actions have informed him that I am aware of the magical world. It may be his duty to report this incident, and the Bureau of Magical Law Enforcement may act accordingly."

She couldn't quite tell if he was trying to make her feel worse or merely stating the facts. Given his nature she was more inclined to believe the latter. He wouldn't purposefully upset her. "That's true," she said, "but I don't think the Bureau will do anything. They're more concerned with secrecy. I'm sure if you talked with them, sensibly, they would let the incident go."

"They will want to confiscate your wand." Spock crouched in front of the man and took his phaser. "This is a standard-issue law enforcement phaser."

"He's a police officer?"

He nodded and straightened up. "He should regain consciousness shortly."

The faint beginnings of embarrassment were percolating in her stomach. This was something Harry would have done. Fired without thinking. But she hadn't had a chance to think, really. She felt bad for getting Spock involved in her personal affairs with the magical world- what was left of it- and it wasn't fair to expect him to help her. "I could try to revive him," she said glumly, "if you'd like."

"I think we would be better served if he remained in his current state." Spock took her elbow and led her to the sofa, where they sat side by side. She stared at the bowl of sweets she'd placed on the table. The food replicator had become one of her favorite things, if truth be told. "We must consider our next course of action."

Hermione was immensely comforted by the simple fact that he grouped them together when he spoke. The message was quite clear. He saw this as his problem as much as hers. And though she didn't want to be a burden to him, she couldn't help feeling relieved. She leaned back into the sofa and tried to calm her emotions, to think rationally as he was undoubtedly doing. "I can't turn my wand in," she said. "I know it sounds silly, but it's… it's a part of me, I suppose."

He inclined his head in understanding. "What is the punishment for breaking the Statute of Secrecy?"

"I don't know."

"Perhaps you could obtain a permit for your wand."

"I don't think it's quite that simple," she whispered.

Spock clasped his hands together, his long fingers twining around each other. She liked his hands, they were oddly elegant. The veins standing out under his skin were noticeably green. She could tell he was deep in thought, his eyes focused on some far-off point beyond the wall of her flat. She let him think in silence while she twirled her wand between her fingers. It seemed to be almost humming at the moment. She hadn't used it for a good month.

It felt undeniably good to use magic.

"I have a suggestion," Spock said finally. He turned slightly so that he was facing her, and she knew suddenly that his suggestion would be a difficult one. Logical, yes, but difficult. She braced herself and stared back at him, still twirling her wand between her fingers. "The best course of action, I believe, is to inform Starfleet of the truth. If your society and its culture has deteriorated to such a degree there is no logic behind maintaining secrecy."

Hermione looked away from him. There was a feeling of tightness in her chest, a slightly painful squeezing sensation. Despite disagreeing with the way the wizarding world chose to coexist with the muggle world, there was still a part of her that felt secrecy was essential. She knew it made no sense. Why bother hiding magic when muggles had the technology to replicate it? "You think I should tell Starfleet I'm a witch? Spock," she shifted nervously in her seat and met his eyes once more, "they'll think I'm mad."

"I will support you," he said, as though that solved everything.

"They used to burn witches at the stake, though! Do you honestly think they'll just-"

"I understand your apprehension, Hermione, but society has changed. Humans have learned from their past."

"They'll lock me away, or round up every witch and wizard they can find and study them or-"

"You are jumping to conclusions. Starfleet would not benefit from persecuting an entire population. The Federation would not allow that to happen." He spread his hands out in his lap, his palms facing upwards. "Consider your alternatives, Hermione. The Bureau of Magical Law Enforcement will likely attempt to punish you for your actions today. Starfleet can protect you. And I feel I must point out to you that as a Vulcan I believe deceit is inherently illogical and morally objectionable."

She knew that. She'd read up on Vulcan philosophy. The truth was always preferable and Vulcans were almost incapable of lying. She'd come to appreciate how difficult it must have been for him to deceive Captain Kirk and Starfleet about her when they first met. He hadn't told an outright lie but all the same, it was a fine line between withholding information and giving false information.

"But there could be parts of the magical world that would suffer for it," she said. "Goblins, and magical creatures, and ghosts…" She trailed off. It was a weak argument and she knew it. There couldn't be many magical creatures left anyway. How would they be concealed? The muggle world would surely know if there were dragons flying around.

Spock broke his Vulcan demeanor long enough to place a comforting hand on her shoulder and lean forward slightly so that they were eye-level with each other. "Don't be afraid, Hermione. Fear is an emotional response. Control your fear and you will see the logical response. Starfleet's prerogative is non-interference and they will respect the magical community's wishes." His intense dark eyes held hers and she found she couldn't look away. His eyes were the most human part of him- they were so very expressive

"You've thought this out before, haven't you?"

"I was prepared for such a situation," he said.

Of course he was prepared. She was impressed, and rather embarrassed that she hadn't considered what she would do in such a situation as they now found themselves in. Despite her misgivings, Hermione trusted Spock. She trusted that he knew what he was doing. She firmly believed the Vulcans had the right idea in pursuing logic- though supressing emotions was another matter- so she was inclined to believe that whatever Spock decided was probably the best course of action. Even if it was frightening. Even if she was scared. Even if it didn't "feel" right.

"Okay," she said weakly.

His well-defined eyebrows went up and he almost looked surprised. "You agree with me?"

"I trust your judgement."

He very nearly smiled- his mouth softened and his eyes became warm, almost liquid. Hermione found herself oddly captivated. And then it happened again- she felt a slight pressure in her skull and suddenly her mind joined his and she got lost in his thoughts. But he dropped his hand from her shoulder and severed the connection, his eyes flickering as he pulled away and stood. She felt brushed-off. But he seemed unaffected and merely paced over to the unconscious Mr. Newman, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Then we must contact Admiral Lovett," he said.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thanks very much for the feedback! I hope that you enjoy this chapter as we move along in the story.**

* * *

**Chapter #8**

* * *

She wanted to squirm under the sharp gaze of the men sitting across from her. Spock had been called to a tribunal of some sort with Starfleet Command in San Francisco, which left her feeling rather abandoned but also horridly guilty- if he was punished in some way for withholding information, she would blame herself. She was alone, in Paris, facing the President of the Federation and several top-ranking Starfleet commanders. She honestly didn't remember their names, though they'd introduced themselves only moments ago. She was too nervous for names at the moment.

"Don't be nervous, young lady. You are not in trouble," the President said. He had a smooth London accent which made her feel just slightly more at ease.

Hermione shifted slightly in her chair, leaning forward and propping her elbows on the thick oak table. "With all due respect, sir, I've broken the law. The Statute of Secrecy is the most important law of my world- so important that they are willing to sacrifice everything to keep it."

"Admiral Lovett did state as much in his memo." The President clasped his hands together and smiled. He had the sort of face that made him look both approachable and aloof at the same time, which probably served him quite well in his position. "You have the protection of Starfleet, Hermione. As of yet the Federation does not recognize wizarding law, so you cannot be punished under it. You are safe."

"Thank you," she said sincerely.

"Please," he spread his hands out in front of him, "tell me about yourself."

She swallowed the convulsive nervous spasm in her throat. "I was born in 1979, in South London. When I turned eleven I became eligible to attend Hogwarts. It's a wizarding school in Scotland. I didn't know I was a witch until July of 1991, when the school's Deputy Headmistress came to my home to speak to my parents and I about my enrolment."

"Until that time, you had no knowledge of the wizarding world?"

"No."

"You were not aware that you were a witch?" He sounded sceptical.

"No. I'm muggle-born. That is, my parents are mu… ermm… they're non-magical."

The President made a quick note on the notepad in front of him. "And is that very common? To be… muggle-born?"

Hermione shrugged uncertainly, considering the question. Witches and wizards in general were not common. The magical community had always been fairly small, as far as she knew, and it only seemed to have shrunk as time went on. "I don't believe so," she said softly. "I think it's quite rare."

"I see. Do you have any knowledge of how it happens?" He leaned forward, tapping his pen against the wooden desk. "That is, do you know how an ordinary couple may have a child with magical abilities?"

"No. I don't know how it happens- there might have been some research on the subject but I never pursued it." She didn't mention why she'd never looked into the muggle-born phenomenon. Because half of the 'research' out there was pureblood propaganda, and because she was afraid of what she might find. It would apply to her, after all.

"Would you describe your culture as a peaceful one?" He kept making notes on the paper in front of him- it made her nervous, but she tried vainly to suppress that. However Spock managed to control his emotions, she couldn't begin to fathom. Maybe it was physiological. But he was half-human…

"In general, yes," she said.

His perfectly groomed eyebrows went up. "In general?"

"There has been some conflict in the past."

"Internal conflict, I imagine?"

"Yes." She exhaled slowly and wiped her clammy hands on her trousers.

"What is the nature of this conflict?"

Hermione had grown to detest explaining pureblood bigotry to non-magical people. It made the wizarding world appear backwards and uncivilized. It was also such a complex issue that she felt she couldn't really do it justice in a few short sentences. Entire books had been written about the subject and it was still so muddled. "It's complicated," she said.

"Most conflict generally is. Just do your best, Hermione."

"There's a certain bigotry in the wizarding world," she said softly. "It's typically directed at muggle-borns like myself. Witches and wizards who come from magical families- purebloods, they're called- some of them tend to look down on muggle-borns. And of course, some of them can be quite extreme."

"I see. Would you describe it as a sort of supremacist attitude?"

"Yes." She watched his pen fly across the notepad as he scribbled hastily. "But it's not common. I mean, it's far too common than it should be but it's not… ermm…." She trailed off uncertainly.

"You're doing very well, Hermione. Please relax." He flipped a page on his notepad and looked up at her. "Now, this magic. Officer Spock's report suggests that it is quite impressive. He also briefly mentioned 'dark magic,' which you described to him as dangerous. Could you elaborate on that?"

"It's a form of magic used to cause harm." What else could she say about it? She had never done any extensive reading on dark magic, because it was generally acknowledged as something a person was better off not understanding. "Some wizards have been known to use it, but it's considered… evil, I suppose?"

"Are you capable of performing this type of magic?"

She didn't honestly know. "It's never crossed my mind to even try, President."

"You are sixteen years of age?" When she nodded warily his expression seemed to soften. "I am sorry for your predicament. I cannot imagine how difficult it must be for you to be so far from your own time and place. I understand Admiral Lovett does have a taskforce at work on your temporal activity. And it seems you have already acquired a general education certificate?"

"Yes," Hermione said with a shy smile. "Mr. Spock has been helping me. I plan on applying to Starfleet Academy."

The President gave a small nod of approval. "Very impressive. I'm quite sure you'll be successful in your endeavors. Now," he tapped his pen against the desk repeatedly and studied his notes, "the state of your community at present. It seems to have deteriorated. This Frederick Newman, civil law enforcement officer, attempted to remove your wand from you. You don't have the necessary permit."

Her hand twitched to her side nervously. Her wand was in her pocket at the moment. If he asked her to give it up she knew she would have to comply. "That's true," she said.

"May I see your wand?" He extended his hand across the table. She pulled her wand from her pocket and handed it over, watching as he examined it. "Can you perform magic without this?"

"Not really. Wandless magic requires a lot of discipline."

He handed it back to her. "Officer Spock stated that psionic activity can be detected when magic is used. This is why your community has chosen to integrate fully into society? To avoid detection?"

"From what I understand."

"That is quite unfortunate. Surely the magical community would know that the Federation treats all of its citizens equally?"

Hermione chewed on her lower lip and shrugged. "I suppose it's second nature for us to be wary of the outside world," she said softly. "It feels wrong, even now, to have this conversation with you, sir. There has always been a bit of distrust towards the outside world."

The President folded his hands neatly and regarded her for a long, silent moment. His companions hadn't spoken a word yet- they merely stared at her. She shifted uncomfortable and pocketed her wand, waiting for somebody to say something. Declare her crazy, perhaps, or take her wand and tell her that performing magic would from now on be considered a crime. She hated second-guessing herself. But she hated second-guessing Spock even more, because he was such a rational being… humans were not rational. She ought to have known the Federation wouldn't react well.

"I understand that contemporary witches and wizards are not capable of magic in the way you are," the President said finally. She nodded and he continued, his voice softening. "Hermione, I will be presenting this matter to the Federation Council as an addendum during our next meeting. I'm sure you are aware of the current situation with the Klingon Empire- as such, this will unfortunately be a second priority. But rest assured, I do consider it a priority. I believe the best way to proceed would be to elect an ambassador. Understand that this will take some time- a year, perhaps, given the current political climate."

She'd never experienced such a rush of relief in her life. He chuckled and she realized that she'd let out an audible sigh. Blushing, she looked down at her lap and spoke. "Thank you, President."

"Thank you, for your cooperation," he said, and though she knew he was a politician and it was his job to make people trust him, she found herself thinking he surely had her best interests in mind. "In the meantime you will remain under the protection of Starfleet. Mr. Newman will not bother you again- unless you break Federation law, of course. He is a law enforcement officer. But you are free to use magic if you wish. Now, I'm afraid we have run out of time, so I will wish you well in your preparatory examination for admittance into the academy, and I'm quite sure we will see each other again."

It took Hermione a good long moment to realize she was being excused. Her cheeks flamed again and she bowed her head as she rose from her chair. "Thank you," she said weakly. "Thank you, President." She turned and slipped out of the conference room awkwardly, thrown off by the sudden dismissal. To be fair, he probably had much more important things to attend to. A small population of witches and wizards who had never posed much of a threat in the past probably seemed like nothing more than a curious new discovery to him.

She stepped out into the airy atrium and stared at the unfamiliar Paris skyline. At least the Eiffel tower remained. Everything else was new and different. No… she recognized a few buildings. She stood in front of the glass wall for a moment, her hand going to her pocket and grasping her wand. The President had given her permission to use magic, so long as she didn't break any laws. It was more than she'd even dared to hope for.

* * *

"You could have told me." Captain Kirk was not pleased. In fact, Hermione wagered he was rather pissed about the whole situation- not that she blamed him. Spock was his first officer, after all, and trust was a fundamental necessity amongst the crew of a starship. Particularly between a Captain and his first officer. Considering they were also good friends, she understood why he might be upset.

"I apologize, Captain. It was the logical course of action at the time." Despite his words Spock seemed completely unapologetic. Apparently he'd been given a good verbal lashing by his superiors. For someone supposedly in control of his emotions, he appeared to be in a rather grumpy mood at the moment.

Hermione shrank down in her seat and wished for an invisibility cloak. "I'm sorry, Captain Kirk. It's not his fault, honestly. It's mine. I-"

"I take full responsibility for my actions, Captain."

"My first officer lies to me and-"

"I did not lie. I merely misled."

"Spock, I'm not going to argue semantics with you."

"Then you must realize I made what I believed to be the correct choice at the time."

She wanted nothing more than to disappear.

Captain Kirk leaned back into his seat and smiled slyly at Spock, who merely stared back at him. "Are you telling me you did what felt right?"

Spock raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to answer, then looked away, visibly annoyed. Hermione found it all too fascinating, the subtle display of emotions from her half-Vulcan friend. It seemed Captain Kirk had the interesting ability to elicit frustration from Spock. Admittedly, watching the two of them argue was quite amusing.

"No," Spock said shortly. "I do not allow feelings to dictate my actions. Nevertheless, I apologize for misleading you." When Captain Kirk merely stared back at him, he added, "I am sorry, Jim."

His sincerity clearly had the desired outcome, because Captain Kirk's shoulders slumped and his expression softened. "I know, Spock. Just… next time a witch from the 20th century spontaneously appears on my starship, keep me informed about it. Okay?"

"I highly doubt the incident will be repeated in the foreseeable future."

Hermione giggled despite herself, which earned her a charming smile from Captain Kirk. He was looking much more dishevelled than she remembered, with his honey blond hair sticking up in several places and his rumpled casual clothing. She wondered if he was enjoying his time on Earth or if he would rather be off-planet, as they said, hurtling off into some unexplored corner of the galaxy.

"The complexity of human pranks, Spock," he said. "So, you're a witch." He gave Hermione a once-over glance and his expression became serious once more.

"Yes."

"You can do magic."

"Yes." She knew what he was getting at. He wanted to see some magic. Frankly it was beginning to grate on her nerves, the constant questions. It seemed every Starfleet Officer she came across had a dozen queries and requests. Spock had shown her the memo he'd received from Starfleet Command- it included a rather unflattering photo of her and a brief explanation, along with the large red letters CLASSIFIED scrawled across the screen. It all felt a bit unreal to her, the fact that she was now basically a classified military secret.

Captain Kirk gave her a rather hopeful grin. She sighed and pulled out her wand. "What would you like to see?"

"Oh, I don't know. Something flashy?"

She flicked her wand at him. "Locomotor Mortis."

His legs clamped together and he immediately began attempting to pry them apart. When it became obvious that he couldn't, he tried to stand up and promptly fell back into his seat.

"Fascinating." Spock's voice was as deadpan as ever but Hermione swore she detected a hint of amusement in his tone. She quickly took the curse off of Captain Kirk. His legs sprang apart and he rubbed his knees vigorously.

"_Very_ fascinating," he said with a grin. "What do you call that?"

"It's the leg-locker curse," she said. "It's not taught in any class, but for some reason every first year learns it eventually."

"You go to school to learn magic?"

"Yes. For seven years. Well… there used to be a school for witchcraft and wizardry, but it closed down at some point." She glanced at Spock. He had his tricorder out, a little black computing device that could detect disturbances in the psionic field. From her seat she could see the little green light flashing repeatedly.

"Mild fluctuations," he said softly, tapping at the device and pointing it in her general direction. "I would estimate it to be a fairly weak spell."

"Can normal people learn how to use magic?" Captain Kirk asked her.

"No, I'm afraid not." Hermione tried to ignore the mild indignation that flared up at the term 'normal people.' She knew he didn't mean to offend her.

"Probably for the best. Still, it could be useful."

"Oh yes, magic is very useful," she agreed. "There are all sorts of healing spells, you know. And potions as well. Although I imagine quite a lot of it has become obsolete with how much technology has developed. The sedatives Dr. McCoy gave me are much stronger than a standard sleeping draught."

"Is that how you managed to travel through time? Magic? Did somebody use a spell to send you here?"

"I'm sure it had something to do with magic, but I still don't know how I got here."

"Well," he said, "I'm sure now that Starfleet knows more about you they'll be that much closer to working it out. Speaking of, did Spock tell you there's an entrance competition exam coming up for Starfleet Academy? You should apply for it. It's two weeks away."

Hermione snorted. "Captain Kirk, I highly doubt at this point I would be able to compete with candidates who have spent the past year studying and training to get into the academy."

"She underestimates herself," Spock said. "A curious human trait. I do not understand it."

"I think I'm far too young, though! Most applicants are at least eighteen-"

"She's never met Chekov, has she?"

"I believe they were briefly introduced. He was assigned to the _Enterprise_ at the age of seventeen, was he not?"

"That's right. And you're sixteen, aren't you Hermione?"

She glared at both of them. "I'll be seventeen in September, if you must know."

Spock had his PADD out and was poking at the screen rapidly. "Here is an application, if you would like to fill it out." He passed the device to her and she took it grudgingly. Getting into Starfleet Academy _was_ something she wanted to do, but it would take time. She would have to study, prepare herself for it. Starfleet was rigorous about admissions. Surely they didn't think she would be successful if she applied now?

"Why bother?" She typed her information into the application, her fingernail bouncing off the screen rather loudly.

"The exam tests your stress reaction, spatial orientation, and deductive reasoning," Spock said. "I am quite sure you will be successful."

"You might have to work on your stress reaction," Captain Kirk added slyly.

She threw him a dark look as she filled out the application.

* * *

Hermione spent the next two weeks confined to her flat. The freedom to use magic had lifted a tremendous burden from her shoulders that she hadn't even been aware of. Of course she still wasn't allowed to use magic in the presence of civilians. That didn't bother her, though. She reasoned that she'd have had to contend with that anyway, back in her own time, what with the Statute of Secrecy. She contended herself with reviewing everything she'd ever learned at Hogwarts in the privacy of her flat. When she finished that, she began studying for the coming examination.

On the morning of her entrance exam Spock appeared at her door, looking far too awake and aware for 5:00 A.M. His eyes flicked over her briefly and took in her wild hair, bleary eyes, and pyjamas. "Good morning," he said, stepping into her flat and closing the door behind him.

"I appreciate the conventional greeting, Spock, but I really beg to differ," she mumbled, staggering back towards the kitchen and waving her wand at the window. The curtains sprang apart and the San Francisco skyline gleamed a pale blue and yellow as the sun began to rise.

"Did you not sleep well?" He watched her pour a dash of cream into her coffee and stir it vigorously.

"I slept fine. But it's 5:00 in the morning." She took a sip of coffee and it burned a hot, invigorating trail down her throat. "Give me two minutes?" He nodded so she stumbled back into her bedroom, stuffed herself into her clothes, and ran her fingers through her hair to untangle the worst of the snarls. Then she went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, peering at her tired reflection miserably.

"Good morning, he says. So much for logic," she grumbled, squiring toothpaste onto her toothbrush and scrubbing at her teeth savagely. She spat and rinsed her mouth with water, then made her way back into the kitchen and went straight for her coffee, which had cooled enough to be a tolerable temperature for her to toss back as quickly as possible.

"You are aware Vulcans have superior hearing." Spock watched her refill her mug.

She blinked slowly and scowled at him. Mornings were not a good time for her. She sat down at her kitchen table and slumped over her coffee, flicking her hair behind her ears irritably. It fell stubbornly into her face as soon as she took a sip of coffee. "For heaven's sake," she muttered, pulling a hair elastic from her pocket and tossing her stubborn mane up into a messy bun.

"I thought you might wish to review your skills before going into the examination."

"Can I wake up first?"

One eyebrow quirked up. "You are awake."

Hermione bit her tongue and withheld the scathing remark that came to mind. "I know you can regulate your circadian rhythms, Spock, but I'm only human, and this human is not a morning person."

His dark brown eyes almost seemed to sparkle for a moment. He was amused, even if he refused to acknowledge it. "I understand," he said. "Would you like more coffee?"

"No, thank you." She stretched her arms over her head and yawned. "Goodness, it's so early."

"Perhaps you should eat."

She wanted to tell him that what she really needed was another hour of sleep, but decided against it. "I think I'll just have my coffee. Are you going to come with me to the academy?"

"Of course," Spock said. "I intend to observe your examination as well."

Hermione didn't think that would help her nerves one bit, knowing that he was watching her, judging, assessing. She was used to test anxiety, of course, but this was different. "Oh," she said weakly, sipping at her coffee and staring down at her hands wrapped around the ceramic white mug. Now that she was properly awake her brain began to go into overdrive. Stress reaction was her main concern. Deductive reasoning… well, that wouldn't be a problem. Spatial orientation might prove difficult. She wasn't clumsy by any means but hand-eye coordination was something that only came with practice, like flying a broomstick, and that was not her strong suit.

Finishing her coffee was apparently Spock's cue to turn into a drill sergeant. He gave her a set of complex exercises to work her way through using logic. Whenever she made a point he would counter it and she would be forced to work backwards. Eliminating every impossibility was painful work, perhaps because he was so incredibly meticulous, but surely there was no better way to practice logical reasoning than with a Vulcan?

Two hours later they were at Starfleet Academy. Hermione could not help feeling slightly self-conscious in the black uniform Spock had given her. Her shirt and shorts were skin-tight but the material, whatever it was, felt impossibly soft and flexible. She likened it to not wearing any clothing at all. Still, it made her uncomfortable until she realized every other candidate was wearing the exact same thing. She looked down at her black trainers and wriggled her toes, then bounced on the balls of her feet lightly.

"Keep in mind that your stress levels will be monitored throughout each exercise," Spock said as they walked briskly across the green square towards the main building.

"Thank you," she said dryly, "that certainly eases my mind."

"I am confident you will perform well." He took her elbow as they walked up the stone steps into the atrium. Candidates had queued up in front of a table where a woman sat and checked them in, placing a black plastic band around their wrists and wishing them good luck.

She eyed her competition with a sinking feeling. Most of them had several years on her. They were all very lean and fit. She probably looked a bit like a marshmallow in comparison- soft, too fluffy for intense physical stress. "I wish I could say the same," she muttered.

Spock's long, thin fingers tightened around her elbow- she couldn't tell if he was trying to reassure her or not. They waited in line silently until Hermione had a bracelet secured around her wrist. And then it was time for her to join the other potential recruits. She looked up at Spock and felt the first flutter of nerves in the pit of her stomach. He seemed to sense her sudden anxiety. "Do not compare yourself to your competitors, Hermione. Focus on your tasks and remain calm. You are an extremely capable young woman," he said.

She didn't fail to notice how his voice softened and his eyes became warm and liquid once more. Coming from anyone else the reassurance might have held a little less weight, but this was Spock. His sincerity was almost sweet, in a way. She suddenly felt a bit flustered. "Thank you," she stuttered.

"Good luck," he said, his fingers dropping to graze her wrist- yet again there seemed to be a very momentary connection that she couldn't ignore, but it was gone almost immediately. He turned on his heel and left, so she joined the steady stream of competitors as they filed out of the atrium.

Though she was aware of her heart beating more rapidly than was normal, Hermione found a sense of calmness by telling herself that any scenario they decided to throw at her could be solved by plain logic.

* * *

The atmosphere at 12 Grimmauld Place was solemn. Nobody seemed capable of forming words or even a coherent thought. The owner of the house, Sirius Black, had been drinking since noon and currently was lying on the floor with his head resting against Buckbeak's wing-joint. Even the hippogriff seemed to have picked up on the melancholic mood. His head drooped so that his wickedly sharp beak pressed against the carpet while his yellow eyes stared across the room unblinkingly.

Ginny Weasley sat on the sofa between her twin brothers Fred and George, who cuddled and comforted her silently. Ron and Harry were on the floor in front of the sofa. Neither had spoken for several days except to answer yes or no when asked a question. Molly and Arthur Weasley sat on a loveseat with their hands clasped together for support- it was as though they'd lost one of their own. Remus Lupin slumped against the wall and stared out the window at the quiet muggle street below. Nymphadora Tonks stood next to him and leaned against the windowsill. Her hair was a drab brown hue.

The Headmaster sat in an armchair near the fireplace and studied the flames, the twinkle from his eyes long-faded. Nobody dared mention it, but the fact was that he'd taken full responsibility for what had happened in the Department of Mysteries. He placed the blame for Hermione Granger's disappearance solely on his own shoulders.

Even the most detached member of the Order of the Phoenix appeared to be grieving, in his own way. The fact that Severus Snape was present when he had no reason to be said as much. He sat in the armchair across from the Headmaster's. Currently the only source of noise in the house was the occasional mewl from Crookshanks the cat, who was curled into a ball of orange fluff on Snape's lap. Snape stared down at him and scratched his ear whenever Hermione Granger's familiar let out a sharp, high-pitched meow.

It had only been a week. One week without her and most everyone in the room felt as though an enormous hole had been punched into their chests. They were powerless to do anything. Wherever Hermione Granger was- whether she was dead or simply lost in the universe- they could do nothing to bring her back. The Ministry was equally powerless to help. She really was gone. Perhaps it would not have shocked them quite so badly to lose a member of the Order, an adult who understood what war and fighting and death really was, but to lose a sixteen-year old girl seemed so incredibly cruel.

When Kingsley Shacklebolt came in at around 7:00 Mrs. Weasley was cooking food and Sirius Black was passed out on the floor. Dumbledore had left and nobody quite knew where he'd gone, but then nobody really cared to ask. Most of the adults- including Fred and George Weasley- had finally caved and were having a drink, while Harry, Ron, and Ginny were left painfully sober and still reeling.

It appeared the only sober adult present was Snape. He had not moved from his armchair, nor had Crookshanks. Kingsley took the chair next to him with a weary sigh. "Where's Dumbledore?"

Snape blinked as though startled out of a daze, and looked up at the other man. "I've no idea," he said. "And I don't care to guess."

"I've spoken to the Head of the Department of Mysteries. He wasn't very forthcoming but I gathered that they won't close the case on Hermione Granger just yet."

"Why would they?" Snape murmured. He raked his fingers through the thick ginger fur of the cat on his lap- where on Earth the animal had come from, he wasn't entirely sure.

"Severus, they did say she was irretrievable. I'm not clear on what that means, precisely, but..."

"Give me ten minutes with one of your Unspeakables and I will tell you precisely what it means," Snape breathed. It was as though he was speaking more to himself than to his fellow wizard.

Kingsley shook his head. "I understand that everyone is a bit shocked-"

"You do not understand. You hardly knew the girl." Snape's voice edged on anger now. He was not prepared to confront his feelings about Hermione Granger's disappearance, and Kingsley was effectively forcing him to do just that. "She sat in front of me for five years. I taught her for _five years_. She never once received a mark lower than a 90." His voice rose slightly, though everyone in the room was either too drunk or too lost in thought to notice. "All of that potential," he snarled, "gone. Like that." His fingers snapped and he threw his hand down in disgust.

Kingsley inclined his head, surprised by the generally unemotional man's reaction. "I suspect the Minister will be resigning," he said.

"Go pander your Ministry nonsense to someone who gives a damn," Snape answered icily. "I don't care. The Headmaster is probably at Hogwarts cleaning up a few loose ends if you're looking for him." He stared at the fire and stubbornly ignored Kingsley Shacklebolt.

The headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix was silent for the rest of the night. Nobody left the house. Snape stayed in his chair by the fire and Sirius Black curled up on the floor next to Buckbeak the hippogriff. They snored in unison throughout the night. Nobody was aware of the buzzing muggle world outside, the strange fact that all satellite signals had been disrupted and even radio communications seemed not to be working. If they'd had the technology to do so they might have measured a sudden wild fluctuation in the psionic field that could be traced to a point of origin in the center of London.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thank you for the feedback. I noticed the other day that the word count for this fic has jumped right up there so I am trying to move things along. Pacing is hard.**

* * *

**Chapter #9**

* * *

"We need to talk." Nyota twisted her head and looked up at him, her dark eyes large and brimming with emotion. They'd just had dinner and were sitting on the sofa together in her small but comfortable apartment.

He looked away, uncomfortable with the intensity of her gaze. "What do we need to discuss?"

"This." Her hand fluttered between them. "Us."

It was a rare moment in which he allowed himself the luxury of entertaining his feelings. He had no desire to discuss their relationship and resented her bringing it up now, after a long day at Starfleet Headquarters with Jim Kirk and the top brass, as his Captain referred to the higher-ranking Starfleet officials. "Nyota-"

"You've been like a ghost for the past month," she murmured, looking down at her hands clasped delicately in her lap. "I hardly see you, Spock."

"It is unfortunate that we have conflicting schedules, Nyota, however-"

"It's not just that." She crossed one slim, shapely leg over the other and sighed. "Things were different when we were on the _Enterprise_. We spent every day together. Now I feel like we're growing apart and it worries me." She pursed her lips and frowned. "You know that I respect your commitment to Starfleet. I appreciate your being career-driven, but I have to wonder… if we weren't serving aboard the same starship, would we be together?"

"Perhaps not," he said, "but we _are_ assigned to the same starship. When the conflict with the Klingon Empire is resolved the Enterprise will continue with its mission."

"That's not the point I'm trying to make, Spock. Our relationship hasn't grown the way I expected it to. Nothing has changed- we're no closer than we were a year ago. Being on Earth has made me realize that. It felt like more than it was, being on the _Enterprise_ and working together constantly."

The direction this conversation was heading in surprised him. She had clearly given the subject considerable thought before bringing it up. "What do you mean to say, Nyota?"

She sighed and stared down at her hands, visibly struggling with her emotions. Spock took a moment to remind himself that this was precisely why he chose to control his own feelings. Allowing them to run rampant never helped. It only clouded judgement and often caused unnecessary suffering. If Nyota would take a moment to realize this she would not be tearing up and struggling to find the right words. He reached over and rested his hand on her slim shoulder. She sniffled and wiped at her eyes impatiently. "I think our relationship has run its course, Spock. But I… don't want to lose you. I love you."

Despite the fact that he knew this was inevitable and he agreed with her, Spock felt an ache in his chest that he could not supress. He withdrew his hand and looked out the large window across the room. The sun was beginning to disappear and the sky seemed to be on fire with orange and pink rays. "Why grieve, Nyota? I love you now as much as I ever have. You will not lose me."

She began to cry in earnest, burying her lovely face in her hands. He would be forever grateful that he never expressed the momentary resentment he'd felt towards her. The moment was too fragile and he wanted to take her in his arms and wipe her tears away.

"I'm sorry." She pulled her hands away from her face and looked at him, her eyes shining damply. "Please understand. I can't be in a relationship if it's gone stagnant."

"I understand," he said, trying to soften his voice, to make his words more gentle. "I am sorry that I cannot provide what you want."

"But you can, Spock. I know you're capable of being emotionally available. You've shown me that side of yourself and I just wish that you would be like that more often." She wrung her hands together and shook her head. Her signature ponytail swished back and forth with the movement. "I know you think it's wrong to feel, but-"

"I do not think it's wrong. I think you underestimate how deeply Vulcan emotions run. We chose not to feel because it can consume us, Nyota. I do not think you would be so eager to see that side of me. If I allowed myself to be angry right now, do you believe that would benefit either of us?"

"But you should be angry! We've been together four years now. You should be angry that it's not working. I am. I don't want our relationship to be over."

"That is precisely the point. Logically there is no reason for us to continue this relationship, but if I allowed myself to be angry- and I do wish that I had that luxury- then I would not be capable of being rational."

Nyota stared at him for a long moment, then stood up. "Then leave. I'm sorry." She began to cry once more. "I'm almost thirty years old. I need something more out of life. I'm sick of your logic."

She was purposefully attempting to hurt him now, so he rose and went to the door without another word. Perhaps with time and perspective they would be able to discuss this, but for the moment she was right- he needed to leave. Still, he looked over his shoulder at her, his hand gripping the doorknob. She stood in the middle of her living room, her arms folded across her chest, her cheeks damp with tears.

"I cannot be completely Vulcan. I cannot be completely human. Nyota," he said, dropping his gaze to the floor, "I am sorry. You alone seemed to understand. I feel constantly pulled in two very different directions." He opened the door and met her eyes one more time. "Goodbye."

When he closed the door behind him he heard the distinct sound of her sobbing unselfconsciously. His mind drew the conclusion that this had been inevitable. But the worrisome thought that he'd been rejected yet again for his split heritage threatened to overwhelm him. He knew better than to entertain that thought. Yet it kept coming back despite his efforts. He made his way back to his apartment in a daze, aware of himself slipping and grasping for control.

* * *

Several days later his doorbell rang, drawing him out of his meditations. He considered not answering it but the possibility that it might be something of importance made him haul himself up from his bed and yank the door open a bit roughly, ready to inform his visitor that he preferred not to have company at the moment. Even if it was Nyota. He had no desire to entertain another soul. He wanted to be alone.

"Hello." Hermione Granger peered up at him with a shy smile.

"Hello." Spock was genuinely surprised to see her. She'd slipped his mind since his discussion with Nyota, which had occurred on the last day of Starfleet Academy's entrance examinations. He supposed an apology was in order for that- after all, he had promised Hermione she would have his support. "I apologize for missing your examination results. Did you succeed in passing?"

She beamed up at him, her eyes sparkling. "Yes. I've been enrolled in the preparatory training program. I start on Monday. If I pass that then they'll let me into the academy and I'll start classes in September."

"Congratulations," he said.

She tilted her head and the sparkle left her eyes. "What's wrong? Has something happened?"

If he didn't know better Spock would have thought he must be visibly upset. But no… it seemed Hermione Granger was simply perceptive enough to gauge his mood. Not that he _was_ upset. "It's of no concern," he said. "I am fine."

"Would you like to be alone?"

Spock found his desire to be alone had suddenly left him when greeted by this girl's concern. He blinked and shook his head. "Please, come in. I would be grateful for your company."

Her smile returned and she stepped into his apartment, closing the door behind her softly. "I only just scraped by in spatial orientation, so I think I'd better start some sort of exercise routine. Some of the other recruits are very fit."

"There are excellent facilities at the academy," he said, punching a code into his replicator and drawing up a mug of tea for her. She would appreciate the sentiment, he knew, and she did look slightly tired. "Perhaps you might want to ask Captain Kirk for assistance- he is quite physically active."

"He must be quite busy, though," she said, taking the offered mug from him and sitting down at his kitchen table. "Is the Federation any closer to a resolution with the Klingon Empire?"

"Some progress has been made, however they are still demanding Captain Kirk be tried for trespassing in Klingon space. They have accepted that he did not kill an entire Klingon patrol."

"Well, that's a start." She pulled her wand from her pocket and poked her mug of tea with it before taking a sip.

"Starfleet has reopened interstellar travel as well," he said.

She set her mug down and considered him for a moment. "Does that mean the _Enterprise_ will be leaving Earth?"

"Yes."

Hermione did not seem pleased with this information. A small frown touched her mouth and she looked down at her tea. "Won't it be dangerous, though? What if the Klingons decide to attack the _Enterprise_ when it's so far from Earth?"

"I believe we will not leave Earth for several months," he said.

Her posture loosened and she propped her elbows on the table. "Good," she said softly.

Spock did not want to discuss Starfleet activity in any capacity- he'd had enough of that over the past week, so he directed the conversation back to her. "Has the academy offered you a room in residence?"

She brightened considerably and nodded. "Yes, I'm moving on Sunday. It's very exciting, isn't it? I do hope I'll be able to keep up with my fellow recruits. And I hope I'll get on with my roommate- I'm sure it will be fine, but… you know, I've only just settled in and now everything is changing again. It feels as though I've been here for a year rather than a month."

"You are evidently very adaptable. I think it will serve you well," he said. "Have you given thought towards your course of study?"

Hermione nodded and sipped at her tea. "Yes, I've been thinking about it. I think I'll focus my studies on physics." She eyed him with an expression bordering on suspicious. "Are you all right, Spock?"

He nodded curtly. "I am."

"I thought Vulcans couldn't lie."

"I am not lying, Hermione. There is nothing wrong with me."

She chewed on her lower lip for a moment and stared down at her tea. "You seem a bit upset."

He couldn't imagine why she would think so, but then she was quite insightful and perhaps her magical capabilities gave her an upper hand in reading people. He did not think it appropriate to discuss his personal life with others, but he was quite tempted. Vulcans were extremely private and intimate relationships were not openly discussed even amongst couples, as they tended to be loaded with emotions, but the human part of him- which he acknowledged quite readily at the moment- felt a keen desire to tell her. He weighed his options while Hermione studied her tea intensely.

Perhaps she would understand better than most.

"You are aware I was involved in a romantic relationship with Lieutenant Uhura. She terminated it several days ago."

Hermione lifted her gaze and stared at him as though he'd spoken in a foreign language. "I see," she said slowly.

"It is unfortunate," he said, avoiding eye contact with her, "but perhaps inevitable."

"Inevitable?"

"I believe so."

"Is it because you're half-Vulcan?"

As much as he tried Spock could not ignore the bitterness that seemed to swell in his chest. Still, he did not express it. He merely nodded and met her solemn gaze with a half-shrug. "There are certain irreconcilable differences between humans and Vulcans."

"What about your parents?" she asked softly. "Surely they must have gotten on well enough?"

"There are always exceptions." He looked down at his hands. "I am the only Vulcan-human hybrid that I know of. Perhaps that is evidence for incompatibility amongst the two species'."

"I'm sorry." Hermione reached across the table and seemed to hesitate for a moment before taking his hand in hers and wrapping her fingers around his. Spock found with minimal effort his mind melded easily to hers- he only needed to consider it and they locked together as though through some sort of magnetic attraction. Her mind was a sharp presence, precise and linear, her thoughts jumping from one thing to the next in a rational progression. He felt her concern and a desire to be of assistance to him.

She pulled her hand away quickly and gave herself a small shake. "Do you do that on purpose?"

He lifted an eyebrow and tilted his head. "Not entirely. You are quite adept at manipulating the psionic energy field- it seems to draw me in when we make physical contact. I will endeavour to resist it in the future."

"It doesn't- I'm not bothered by it," she said quickly. "It just startles me. Did I ever tell you there's a branch of magic that involves, for lack of a better term, mind-reading? It's called Legillimency. And Occlumency involves shielding your mind from a Legillimens. I understand they're both quite difficult to learn."

Spock had the impression she was attempting to distract him. He appreciated that. It improved his mood considerably. "Interesting," he said.

She offered him a weak smile and wrapped her hands around her mug of tea. "I'm sorry, Spock. I wish I had something more useful to say but I'm afraid I don't have much experience with romantic relationships."

"There is no need to apologize, and your very presence is quite useful to me." He was amused to see her cheeks rapidly turn an interesting shade of pink. "I find it curious that you do not have experience in regards to romantic relationships. It is quite common for adolescent humans to seek intimacy with each other."

Hermione made a fascinating noise that he could only describe as a giggle. "Oh… well… I did go out with a famous quidditch player last year. Quidditch is a sport," she added quickly, "played on broomsticks- it's not terribly interesting, really."

"Broomsticks?"

"Flying broomsticks."

He tried to imagine such a sight in his head but found it too ludicrous to entertain. "Fascinating. Is this method of transportation used frequently?"

"Not really. There's always the risk of being seen, and besides it's not very fun." She wrinkled her small nose in distaste. "I don't like flying. Not on broomsticks, at any rate."

Spock conceded a very small smile as he attempted to picture Hermione Granger astride a floating broomstick.

Several hours had passed by with rather remarkable speed as they talked idly about a variety of subjects. He found her excellent company, as always, and it was a rather pleasant distraction from what he'd been engaged in earlier- he supposed it amounted to what Doctor McCoy would call 'moping.' It weighed on his mind, that Nyota had decided to end their relationship. Not because he'd wanted to continue it, but because of the implications. He could not help feeling as though he must be inadequate in some way, on some level, as far as humans were concerned.

It was perhaps the first time he'd ever seen his Vulcan side as a disadvantage, and that made him extremely uncomfortable. He pursued life the way a Vulcan would. He honored his Vulcan heritage. He'd chosen to do so, believing it to be the superior approach, the logical approach. And that was why he occasionally felt so very conflicted. He rarely _could_ choose to act illogically.

It was quite late in the evening when Hermione finally glanced at the clock. "Goodness," she said in surprise, "it's past 10:00."

Spock had been keeping track of the time almost unconsciously and was surprised not by how late it was, but by how rapidly the time had passed. They were sitting on his sofa and she had been explaining ghosts to him, a concept so bizarre he found himself struggling to believe her. "Perhaps it is time to retire for the day," he said. "I shall escort you to your apartment if you wish."

Hermione fluttered her small hand at him. "Oh, you don't have to do that," she said. "I'm sure I'll be all right by myself. There doesn't appear to be much petty crime going on these days."

He knew she was right, but felt oddly compelled to see her home safely regardless. Truthfully he did not want her to leave. She was an _extremely_ welcome distraction from his current situation. "I insist," he said quietly.

She didn't argue with him, though her cheeks flushed with color once more. They left his apartment and went out into the warm San Francisco night- he slowed his pace when he noticed she struggled to keep up with his long stride. The silence that fell over them was comfortable and Spock felt at peace with himself and the world as they wandered towards her apartment complex.

Eventually Hermione broke the silence with a curious question. "How old are you, Spock?"

"In earth years, I am thirty," he said. It seemed to be a random question. He wasn't entirely sure what her thought progression was, nor her motivation for asking. Perhaps simple curiosity? She had an extremely inquisitive nature. "Why do you ask?"

"Out of curiosity," she said, flashing him a shy smile. "Vulcans have longer lifespans than humans, don't they? Does that mean that you're biologically younger than a thirty-year old human?"

"I believe so."

Hermione studied him for a brief yet intense moment before looking away. "Fascinating," she said.

Spock struggled to keep a straight face- the fact that she was grinning made it all the more difficult for him. But he managed all the same, and when they reached her apartment building he felt compelled to express his gratitude towards her for providing such wonderful companionship. "I find your presence very enjoyable, Hermione. Thank you for entertaining me today."

She hovered by the door and beamed up at him like a shy young girl. "I'm happy to help," she said. "Are you busy on Sunday? Would you like to help me move into residence?"

He would very much like to help her move. "Of course."

"Then I'll see you on Sunday." She reached out a bit awkwardly and patted his shoulder. "Take care of yourself, Spock. I hope you feel better."

He glanced down at her hand, hesitated for a brief moment, then gently took it in his own hands and memorized every detail, every line in her palm and the texture of the skin covering her knuckles. He knew that he was being perhaps a bit invasive, but humans did not consider hands a particularly intimate part of their bodies. Vulcans, being touch telepaths, saw it as quite personal to make physical contact with their hands, therefore It was generally reserved for family and mates. He'd been irritated when he first came to Earth, when so many humans he met immediately offered their hands to him. At first he'd engaged in handshaking as a way of greeting but eventually it became too strange for him.

"I feel much better," he murmured, releasing her hand but keeping the details of it sharp in his mind. "Goodnight, Hermione."

Her entire face was flushed as she bade him goodnight and slipped into her apartment complex. He found his body seemed much lighter than before and his mind had finally become quiet, the effects he'd been attempting to instill through meditation. He pondered that as he walked at a leisurely pace back to his own apartment.

* * *

He never did get the opportunity to help Hermione Granger move from her temporary apartment into the residences at Starfleet Academy. The day before her move his communicator beeped and he was called to Headquarters, where Commander Beckett informed Captain Kirk and himself that the_ U.S.S Enterpris_e would be sent on patrol around Sector 47, which lay a mere seventeen light-years from Klingon space.

The crew of the _Enterpris_e mobilized immediately. Spock felt something akin to guilt as he watched his fellow crewmates assemble and file into numerous shuttles in an orderly fashion. He'd told Hermione that he would not be leaving Earth for several months, and he'd promised her he would see her tomorrow. Certainly strange, to feel guilt for a girl he had no responsibility for. But he was fond of her, and they seemed to share a unique connection that he could not deny he wanted to explore further, and so leaving Earth seemed less appealing to him than it might have if he wasn't leaving Hermione Granger behind.

"Captain," he said, catching Jim Kirk's attention quietly, "may I request a moment to make a personal call?"

Jim gave him a peculiar look and nodded. "Sure, but make it quick Mr. Spock. We're departing in thirty minutes."

Spock slipped away and dialled Hermione's phone number. It rang twice before her lightly accented English voice came on the line.

"Hello?"

He nearly said 'Spock here,' out of pure habit, but decided a less formal approach was more appropriate. "Hello, Hermione. I do not have much time to speak to you- the_ Enterprise_ has been assigned to patrol. We are departing shortly." He paused and found himself at a loss for what to say.

Hermione spoke before he could apologize. "You're leaving? For how long?"

"I do not know." He looked out the window at the shuttles and felt a heaviness in his chest that he could not ignore. "I am sorry to leave on such short notice. The nature of being a Starfleet officer requires-"

"I understand," she interrupted him softly. There was perhaps just a hint of sadness in her voice that he might be imagining.

"I wish you well in your preparatory studies. I will certainly keep in contact with you." It felt oddly wrong and he was compelled to inform her of that. "I would prefer to remain on Earth," he added.

"Be careful out there." Now her voice was definitely sad. "You'll keep in contact? Can you call me from the _Enterprise_? Or leave messages at the academy?"

"I believe we will be too far apart for communications but I will certainly send messages for you."

"Every week?"

She was asking for a promise. Spock gave it to her perhaps too eagerly. "If you wish, I will endeavor to do so." He noticed Captain Kirk through the window, pulling a communicator from his pocket. They had run out of time. "I must go," he murmured into the telephone. "I expect you to do well in your studies, Hermione. You will be in my thoughts. Live long, and prosper." It sounded far too final but he knew she would take it for what it was- a traditional Vulcan farewell.

"Peace and long life," she said.

He severed the connection between them and hurried out onto the tarmac with a startlingly heavy heart. Jim Kirk patted his shoulder as they boarded the shuttle. He glanced briefly at Nyota, whom he had not seen for nearly a week. She avoided him pointedly and carried on a light conversation with Montgomery Scott as the shuttle lifted into the air.

"You okay?" Kirk asked him.

"What do you mean?" Spock raised his eyebrows.

"You know."

"I am fit for duty, Captain." He did not miss the subtle glance Kirk shot at Nyota Uhura.

"Starfleet should really be stricter about their workplace romance policy," he muttered.

"I assume you would fail to comply if they were."

"That's not the point." Kirk conceded a smile as the shuttle lurched abruptly into the air. Several seats down, Dr. McCoy made a very peculiar yelp.


	10. Chapter 10

** A/N: A note to my reviewers, you wonderful folk, I love you. So much love. I sent out a few replies to those of you who left feedback- sorry if I missed you! To the anonymous ones, thank you for taking the time to leave a review.**

* * *

**Chapter #10**

* * *

To say she was disappointed was a gross understatement. She was devastated. Shocked. And just slightly angry, that he'd so readily abandoned her with nothing but a phone call that made no promise of when she would see him again. She understood his duty to Starfleet and she respected his dedication, but Hermione could not help the fact that she had feelings. She wouldn't let them get in the way of rational thought, but she certainly couldn't supress them either. She considered Spock her friend and mentor- not having him to turn to made her feel vulnerable and alone in this strange world.

He was true to his word, though, and sent her recorded video messages every week. She would collapse at her desk Saturday evening after dinner, turn on her computer, and there would be a small flashing notification at the bottom of the screen. When she pressed it Spock's face flickered onto the screen and he would tell her about his week- she couldn't deny that life aboard a starship seemed pretty boring on a day-to-day basis, but that might have more to do with the fact that the _Enterprise_ was merely patrolling the same area over and over again. Often he would go off on a tangent and talk about himself in a rambling fashion she found a bit endearing. He would ask her questions, wish her luck in the following days, and end each message with the Vulcan salute.

Hermione was always very prompt in recording and sending an answering message. At first she'd tried to fix her hair and look semi-alert before hitting the record button, but several weeks in she gave up on that because frankly, at the end of her week she was far too frazzled and exhausted to care whether she looked presentable or not. If he noticed her dishevelled appearance Spock never commented on it except to remark that she seemed to be working very hard.

It was an admittedly awkward way to keep in touch, but she eventually became accustomed to it, even if she did have to watch her own recordings to remember what she'd talked about the week before. In this way they could carry on something close to a steady conversation. Spock appeared quite adept at this method of communication and she learned quickly enough- it was better than no contact at all.

She passed her final admissions examination at the end of August and began attending Starfleet Academy in September, enrolling in as many introductory courses as she possibly could so that she would have a basic understanding of various subjects. Hermione threw herself into her education with a vengeance. Time she didn't spend studying was spent either at the fitness center or in her dorm room sleeping. She barely had time for meals and her roommate Natalie often had to remind her to eat.

By her birthday she'd settled into her life as a cadet. By Halloween she realized she hadn't thought of home for several weeks, busy as she was with academics. By mid-November she'd learned the value of having at least a semblance of a social life- Natalie forced her to join the Starfleet Academy junior debate team. Spock seemed quite pleased with this news- his subsequent message contained something enticingly close to a smile along with quite a bit of advice on avoiding logical fallacies.

By December she'd written her final examinations for the term and passed every course with a 96 average. When she finished her Introductory Physics examination she went straight to her dorm room and slumped down in her chair, tossing her backpack under her desk and turning her monitor on. The little green light at the bottom of the screen flashed and she prodded it impatiently, waiting for the message to upload.

Spock's face flickered onto her monitor. She couldn't help but notice is hair- it never seemed to change. His fringe never grew and there was never a single hair out of place. But today one single lock of hair had fallen out of place and her Vulcan friend looked slightly tired- there were very faint dark circles under his eyes. "Hello, Hermione. I hope this message finds you well. I am certain you have done an excellent job on your final examinations for the term. Are you looking forward to your winter holiday?" One eyebrow quirked up and she knew he was mentally answering the question for her- of course she was looking forward to the winter break. He was only asking because it was the polite thing to do.

"It will undoubtedly be a well-deserved break from your studies," Spock added softy. "I am impressed with the coursework you showed me in your last correspondence. According to Mr. Scott your equations hold the promise of true genius- and Mr. Scott is a superb engineer. I would hold his opinion in high regard." Spock looked down for a moment as though he'd lost his train of thought.

Hermione leaned forward and propped her elbows up on her desk, settling her chin on her knuckles. She'd watched him speak enough times to notice when something was off.

"The Enterprise is returning to Earth," he said after a peculiarly long pause, his dark eyes flickering back up to the screen.

She exhaled sharply in excitement. That ought to have been the first thing he said.

"We have been on patrol for six months and the crew has earned shore leave. By popular request we will be taking it there." A faint ghost of a smile touched his lips as though he knew what she was thinking. "I would like to see you, Hermione. We will be arriving at approximately 10:37 A.M on the 19th of December. According to my calculations that will be the day after you receive this message." There was most definitely a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Until then," he added, raising his hand with his fingers pulled into the shape of a V.

Hermione fell back in her chair, feeling simultaneously giddy and exhausted.

The door swung open and Natalie stumbled in looking just as tired as every other cadet did this week. "Hey," she said, tossing her backpack onto her bed and unbuttoning her wool coat.

Hermione still found it mildly amusing that the native population of San Francisco seemed to think it was cold outside. Cold, in California. That was a laugh. There seemed to be only two seasons here. Cool and wet, or cool and dry. Never too hot nor too cold. San Francisco had perfect weather, at least in her eyes. But she was used to spending the school-year in northern Scotland, where they had proper winter. As for the rain, she was quite used to that. Britain could be a rather soggy place. "How did your exam go?" she asked her roommate.

Natalie pulled her long blonde hair out of its ponytail and shook her head. "It went well. Thank God it was the last one! I'm so ready for Christmas." She flopped down on her bed and took off her boots.

Hermione smiled and leaned back in her chair. Natalie was not the most organized roommate in the world but she made up for it with sheer kindness- she never hesitated to offer help in any way she could, and was always badgering Hermione to come out with her whenever she had plans. She seemed a typical American girl, tall and pretty and blonde, with a bubbly personality to match. She was also five years older than Hermione, which was probably a good thing. Hermione had never really gotten on well with girls her own age, but most of her fellow cadets had at least a few years on her and were very career-oriented.

Most of the time.

"Are you going back to Atlanta for the holidays?"

"Yeah, I'm leaving first thing in the morning." Natalie looked around at her clothes piled up on the floor and her toiletries cluttering the vanity. 'Want to help me pack?" she asked with a sheepish grin.

Hermione laughed. "Ermm… I'll pass. I think I need a nap. Or a hot bath."

"Well, make it quick. We're going out to O'Grady's tonight. Don't give me that look, you're coming with us."

"But I can't even drink, Natalie- what's the point?"

"We'll pre-drink, silly. I don't have enough credit to buy overpriced watered-down cocktails anyway." Natalie began to root through the closet and pulled out a large bottle. "They'll let you in, don't worry. You're a Starfleet cadet."

"I haven't got anything to wear."

Natalie tossed a few articles of clothing at her. "Try those on. Don't argue with me! We just finished our first term. Let's celebrate."

"Can't we celebrate some other way?"

"What, like stay in and read a dissertation on interspecies ethics?" Natalie laughed and began stripping down to her underwear. "You're in_ Starfleet Academy_, Hermione. Loosen up a little. Have some fun." She slipped a stretchy black dress over her shoulders and rolled it down her hips, studying her reflection in the mirror.

She knew her roommate meant no offense. "What's wrong with reading? Reading is fun."

"Oh, honey." Natalie ran a brush through her thick hair and ran a palm-full of mousse through it. "You're seventeen. There's never a better time to go out and get reckless."

She'd had plenty enough moments of recklessness to last her a lifetime. But she knew Natalie wouldn't take no for an answer, and she could use a distraction tonight. It would make tomorrow come sooner, and she couldn't argue with that. "I'll come with, but I'm not drinking," she said sternly, examining the clothing in her lap. "What is this? A bandana?"

"It's a shirt, silly." Natalie swiped her eyelashes with mascara and grinned at her in the mirror. "And a skirt. Try them on."

Hermione sighed but relented, stripping down to her underwear and sliding the rather revealing clothes on. "No," she said.

"You look so pretty!"

"I feel like I've been stuffed into a sausage casing."

Natalie laughed so hard she had to stop applying her makeup. "I love you," she said when she'd gotten her breath back.

* * *

_This is what I get for socializing with an older peer group,_ she thought in amusement as she clinked her glass with her fellow cadets and sipped at the bitter, tangy cocktail Rob had ordered for her. She wasn't one to cave to peer pressure, but Natalie and Courtney had been so insistent back at the academy that she'd had a few drinks with them, and now her alcohol consumption was starting to affect her. She was drunk. It wasn't all that bad, though she felt guilty being underage. According to Jonathan nobody really paid much attention to liquor laws once you reached sixteen, but Hermione didn't entirely believe him because she'd been ushered into the bar and straight into her seat very quickly, in an attempt to hide her from the bouncer and bartender.

"One term down, seven to go." Courtney tossed her drink back and giggled.

"Speak for yourself. I'm done in April," Jonathan said. "Got a plum post lined up too. On the _Intrepid_."

"Isn't that a transport ship?" Hermione asked, stirring her drink with her straw and sipping at it cautiously. The alcohol burned a hot trail down her throat into the pit of her stomach and she grimaced slightly.

"Yeah."

"Sounds boring," Rob said.

"Hey, I just want to get my foot in the door. And it's off-planet. On a starship."

Posts off-planet or aboard starships were coveted amongst fresh officers. Hermione could see why. Many cadets seemed to have their hearts set on venturing out into the great unknown, and that meant leaving the solar system. She could still vividly recall the image of Earth from the view of a starship- it was spectacular, awe-inspiring, and frightening all the same time. It left her feeling small yet bold. She too wanted to work on a starship.

Specifically, the _Enterprise_.

She smiled to herself and thought about tomorrow while her friends bickered amongst themselves. Natalie caught her eye and grinned. The alcohol was going straight to her head now and Hermione found it very pleasant indeed. She grinned back at her roommate.

* * *

The next morning she woke to an empty dorm room and a ferocious headache that doubled in intensity once she sat up and rubbed at her tired eyes. She rolled out of bed with a groan and glanced at the clock. It was 11:00.

She cursed, stubbed her toe on the corner of Natalie's bed, and stumbled into the bathroom clutching her temples in agony. Too much to drink. Would Harry and Ron ever have believed her if she told them she'd gone out and gotten pissed with a crowd of twenty-somethings? It didn't bear thinking about- it was too painful, thinking about her friends. She missed them horribly, and worried about them, and wondered about the wizarding world and what was happening with Voldemort and-

_Stop_, she told herself firmly as she hopped into the shower. That was gone. This was her life now. And she liked her life- it was productive, it had meaning, she was making friends and had a promising future lined up for herself. She owed it all entirely to Spock, who'd gently pushed her in this direction, for which she would be forever grateful.

She showered quickly, cast a drying spell on her hair- though she knew it would turn into a ball of frizz- and dressed in her cadet uniform, then popped some ibuprofen and downed a glass of water before hurrying out of her dormitory building and out onto the green. Cadets milled about aimlessly, some wearing thick winter coats, others wearing jumpers. Hermione wandered towards the main building, which housed the atrium and numerous conference facilities, keeping her eye out for any crew of the Enterprise.

She stopped at the reception desk. "Excuse me," she said, "could you tell me if the _U.S.S Enterprise_ has arrived yet? I understand the crew has been given shore leave and are taking it on Earth."

The receptionist, a middle-aged and bored-looking man, poked at his computer for a moment. "It docked at 10:37," he said. "Shuttles should be arriving in the hangar shortly."

Hermione thanked him and made her way towards the hangar, fighting her headache the entire way. She was not alone in waiting- many citizens were standing around, some of them tapping their feet against the cement floor impatiently, others chattering into their mobile phones. She found herself nervous, suddenly. She smoothed her hair down and ran her hands over her belly to smooth out her uniform.

The deafening roar of a shuttle approaching made her eyes water and she rubbed her forehead, wincing. The shuttle landed and the door slid open with a hiss. Captain Kirk was the first one out, looking much the same as he always did, confident and handsome with just a hint of cockiness in the way he smiled as he stepped out onto the pavement. His crew filed out after him, some of them rushing to hug and greet their loved ones, others looking around and grinning, stomping their feet on the ground as though to reassure themselves they were back on Earth.

Hermione stood back to avoid being squished or trampled. Captain Kirk spotted her, waved, and made his way through the crowd towards her. His eyes flickered up and down and he smiled rather roguishly. "Well, look at you. You look good in uniform, Hermione."

"Thanks," she said, blushing.

"Waiting for Spock?"

She wished desperately that she could control the heat spreading through her cheeks. "Ermm… yes."

Captain Kirk laughed and patted her shoulder. "You're sweet," he said. "Did you have a good term? You didn't get stuck with Commander Steckley for Introductory Law and Legislature, did you?"

"Yes, it was a good term. Commander Steckley is all right." Commander Steckley was a rigorous instructor, a strict authoritarian, and a generally nasty man, but Hermione had suffered five years in the classroom of Professor Severus Snape- compared to him, Steckley was a marshmallow. She smiled and craned her neck in search of Spock. "Did you run into any trouble on your patrols, Captain?"

"A few skirmishes, but for the most part it was pretty uneventful."

Hermione spotted a pair of curiously pointed ears and tidy black hair - Spock stepped out of the shuttle and looked around, one upswept eyebrow raised as though the sight of so many emotional humans bemused him more than anything. She flashed Captain Kirk an apologetic little grin before threading her way through the crowd towards Spock. They locked eyes and though his face was impassive as ever, she swore there was a hint of excitement somewhere in his expression- though she might be imagining that.

"Hello," he said.

She hadn't realized how much she missed him until now. She forgot the fact that he was a Vulcan and technically her superior, now that she was a cadet. All she could think of was the fact that he'd been gone for six months and she had so much to tell him. Being human, and a girl, Hermione had no recourse but to throw her arms around his thin frame and hug him giddily.

Spock seemed to freeze for a moment, his shoulders going rigid. He was taller than she remembered. She didn't want to let go of him. "I missed you," she mumbled, her chin resting on his shoulder.

"Evidently," he said. She realized that such an open display was probably unwanted and unprofessional, but before she could release him Spock startled her by slipping his arms around her waist and giving her a very light squeeze in return. He smelled of clean cotton and something else. "I am pleased to see you," he said, stepping back but keeping his hands on her shoulders, examining her. "Are you unwell? You appear tired."

Hermione shook her head. "I'm perfectly all right." She didn't particularly want to admit to him why she looked worn out. Whether he approved or not hardly mattered but she didn't think it would be wise to tell a Vulcan she'd done something illegal, even if he was her friend. She found the warmth of his hands on her shoulders quite pleasant, if a bit distracting. "How are you?"

"I'm well." He dropped his hands as though he'd read her mind, then looked her up and down as Captain Kirk had done. He didn't comment but she saw a gleam of approval in his eyes.

She beamed up at him happily, her nervousness gone. "Would you like to see my dormitory? It's not far. Or would that be considered inappropriate? Unless you're tired, of course, in which case-"

"I am not tired," Spock interrupted her, his mouth twitching, "however I am hungry. Would you care to have lunch with me?"

Hermione found that quite agreeable, so they left the hangar together- though not before she caught Lieutenant Uhura's eye and received a rather lethal glare. Her cheeks burned and she lowered her head, confused. Lieutenant Uhura had always been very kind to her. What had she done to earn such a look? She would have dwelled on that but Spock immediately began to interrogate her about her life at Starfleet Academy.

"Did you enjoy celebrating your last examination in the traditional way?"

Hermione looked up from her soup and blushed. "What do you mean?"

One eyebrow quirked up and Spock gave her a knowing look. "It is unwise to bluff with a Vulcan, Hermione."

"I'm not bluffing."

That earned her a rare treat- he allowed a very small smile. "I assume you indulged in alcohol last night? A curious human vice. Did you enjoy yourself?"

She dipped her spoon into her soup rather sullenly and decided there was no point in even attempting a white lie with Spock- he was far too clever for that. "Yes, I enjoyed myself, despite the odds."

He tilted his head slightly and studied her for a moment as she polished off her soup. "The odds?"

"I didn't want to go out, and I certainly didn't want to drink. My roommate insisted. It's rather strange being so much younger than my classmates. Sometimes I feel out of place," she said.

"A feeling I am acquainted with."

She supposed he would be. The only Vulcan in Starfleet- it had to be lonely at times. "Are there any new developments with the Klingon situation? I watch the news broadcasts most nights but they don't seem to have anything new to say about it."

"The Federation has conceded settlement rights on Sherman's Planet to the Klingons in exchange for a new peace armistice that includes an embargo on the Klingon Empire. Obviously the attack on Starfleet Headquarters was excessive retribution for the death one patrol squad, however the Klingons are difficult to negotiate with. I believe humans have a saying- give them an inch and they will take a mile."

Hermione was quite familiar with the concept. "The Federation really is quite good at maintaining peace, isn't it?"

"The system does have its flaws, but generally yes, it is efficient."

* * *

Reconnecting with Spock was startlingly easy. She'd been a bit worried and it was difficult to pin down why, but as the afternoon passed by it occurred to her that her real concern lay in the possibility that he would simply lose interest in her. After all, there was no real logic in his staying in contact with her. He seemed to genuinely like her. She found herself wondering if there was more to it than that. Hermione was quite used to keeping company with males- in fact, she preferred it- but comparing Spock with Harry and Ron was a futile and foolish endeavour. He was an entirely different breed of male, so to speak. Too old to be in her cohort but too young to be considered old.

And there was something undeniably attractive about him, on a strictly physical level. Objectively speaking, of course.

"You might consider taking on a more intensive course-load when term resumes," Spock said, offering her a cup of rust-colored tea. She stared into it curiously. "Plomeek tea," he added when she gave him a questioning look. "It does not contain caffeine. Vulcans consider it a very mild sedative." There seemed to be a slight tremor in his hands as he set the mug down in front of her.

"Are you cold?" she asked softly.

"Only slightly."

"You can turn the thermostat up if you'd like."

"You will be uncomfortably warm if I do."

"I don't mind."

Spock's mouth was set in a rather stubborn frown. "I am quite accustomed to lower temperatures."

Hermione stood up with a sigh and adjusted the thermostat. Stubbornness seemed to be a universal male trait, even among other species. "I've signed up for nine courses instead of five. The academy wouldn't let me take ten- I suppose I have to prove that I'm capable of handling this much work before they let me take on more."

"Nine courses- that is a serious commitment," he said, "but I am confident you will manage."

He always seemed to have confidence in her, which Hermione was very grateful for. It certainly did wonders for her self-esteem. "I hope so_,_" she said, tasting her plomeek tea and finding it quite enjoyable. It was almost spicy, but sweet at the same time, like chai tea. Sugar would probably ruin it. She paused for a moment and worked up the courage to ask him a question that had been weighing on her mind for quite some time. "Has it been difficult working with Lieutenant Uhura?"

If he was uncomfortable with such a personal inquiry, he didn't show it. "It has been trying on occasion, if only because human emotions have the capacity to interfere with professional behaviour."

She was quite sure he was referring to Lieutenant Uhura and not himself. What could distract that perfectly logical mind of his? "That's unfortunate," she said carefully.

"Given enough time I am certain Lieutenant Uhura will work through her feelings."

She wanted to ask about his feelings, but didn't want to risk offending him. "Are you all right, though?"

He seemed almost amused more than offended- there was that faint gleam of humor in his dark eyes. "I appreciate your concern, Hermione. I am all right. It is certainly an unfortunate situation- the end of any relationship is unfortunate. But I believe it is for the best."

Hermione took that to mean he saw no point in discussing it any further. She finished her tea and stifled a yawn. "I'm glad you came back," she said.

Spock's stoic expression softened in a way she hadn't seen before- it made her feel slightly giddy, how his intense eyes became oddly liquid and the stern set of his mouth relaxed. "I did find myself missing your company, Hermione. I am very fond of you."

Her face felt suddenly very, very warm. At least she would never have to worry about him not speaking his mind- that was one thing Vulcans were evidently quite good at. She reached across the small table and touched the top of his hand lightly, wanting to communicate to him how grateful she was, and missing the feeling of their minds locking together. Spock brushed his fingers against hers and seemed to intuitively know what she wanted, because suddenly she was sucked into that reeling sensation of being connected to him.

He stared at their hands and traced a pattern on her palm. Hermione felt as though he'd never left.


End file.
